Fallen
by fadeinonme
Summary: Fights in the loft get more heated as one relationship deteriorates and another develops. It's easier to build the fire than it is to put it out. And after you've burned all that's left to do is to freeze. Eventually MarkRoger, my first slash.
1. Lies

Rated: T for cussing, drug use… it may go up to M, not positive.

A/N: My first M/R and my first attempt at slash, so I'm not sure how this will end up honestly. " It's incredibly angst-y so far and for that I apologize. Chapters are named after the evanescence song that inspired them. I hope you enjoy and reviews make my day/week.

_And he couldn't help, but feel like hiding behind all the lies he was telling himself would save him._

**Lies**

"Roger?"

_Knock a little harder._

"Roger…do you want to talk about it?"

But Mark already knew the answer.

"No."

_No, no, no…_

Mark was used to rejection.

A week now. That's the longest Roger had gone without cracking and telling all the gritty details of an argument. Roger and Mimi had had another fight, it seemed like it happened more often lately. Over drugs or jealousy or God knows anything and everything.

An angry tune from Roger's bedroom muffled by the door clearly related how the rocker felt. Mark sighed, he missed Roger. The days Roger spent in the loft now only occurred when he'd fought with Mimi and those days were spent locked in his bedroom with Mark stopping by occasionally to remind him to eat or take his AZT or breathe…

_How familiar… _

He prepared a bowl of soup, and returned to Roger's room, knocking again before he entered. The rocker sat on his bed, hands cradling the fender the same way Mark often held his camera.

He didn't even bother looking up when Mark entered.

"Do you want some soup?" He held the bowl out, "It's uh, chicken noodle…."

_No_

"No. I don't want any soup." Roger stood and it became suddenly clear that he was still pissed from a week ago, "I want you to leave me alone."

"Roger…" Mark let the words come out slowly, "You need to eat."

"Don't tell me what I need, Mark."

"You haven't eaten anything in two days!"

Roger took a step towards him, fender abandoned on the bed.

"Yeah, so what? Why does it fucking matter!"

And Roger was baiting him, but Mark was not easy to catch in a fight. He stood his ground as the rocker came closer. He could feel Roger's hot breath on his face as the distance between them disappeared. Roger challenging, wanting a fight, an excuse to let out his pent up anger.

_Fuck if I'll give into you. _

"…You need food Roger."

The rocker swung hard with his open hand and the bowl of soup flew and the wall was splattered with chicken and noodles.

"I said don't fucking tell me what I need."

Mark froze. Angry Roger he could deal with. Violent Roger was rare, serious, and unpredictable. _How the hell did it get this far?_ But then the rocker let out a hard sigh and sat. A shaky hand ran through his hair.

_Don't move too fast._

The filmmaker let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Roger sat on the bed, green eyes staring at the floor. Mimi must've given him one hell of a fight. Mark sat down next to him.

_Humor is always a good mask._

He gave a stifled, weak laugh, "I know you don't like soup much, but I think that was a little harsh…"

_Okay, so that wasn't funny…_

Mark bit his lip nervously. "Guess you've been holding that in for awhile…"

_No, no, no…_

"Yeah, for a long fucking time." Roger sighed and waved a hand at the broken glass and mess of soup, "I'm… I didn't mean to…"

"Yeah, I know."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Roger didn't move; the muscles in his arm were still clenched with anger and stress. His breathing was labored, heavy. Mark watched as one of the noodles lost whatever grip it had managed to claim and slid helplessly down the wall.

_Sometimes I know just how you feel noodle._

"She won't give them up. The drugs." Roger swallowed, head in hands, "She won't stop. I've done everything I could think of… I don't know what else to do, I love her and I just don't fucking know anymore…"

"I know it's hard, Rodge, you just have to be patient." Roger shifted a little next to him, annoyed, but Mark continued anyway, "Give her...an ultimatum. Do whatever you have to and try not to get too mad…sometimes it's just the drugs talking."

Roger stood arm twisting around arm across his chest, "And what the fuck do you know, huh?"

Mark looked at him carefully, blue eyes hard.

The rocker sighed, "Okay, yea… all right! You helped me through all my shit! But I was there then too. I remember what happened then so why can't I help her like you helped me?"

_If only you really knew…_

Mark stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Your roles are reversed. It's different. And this is Mimi who needs to get through withdrawal this time, not you. What she needs is not the same…"

"And you fucking know everything right!"

The filmmaker and rocker stared off, cool blue met firey green.

Who's going to give…who's going to throw the first punch… who's going to make the first cut…. Who wants to keep this shit going?

_Fuck, if I'm going to give into you_

Mark walked out of the room to the table. He gripped the top with his pale hands, trying to keep from sliding. Don't breathe too deep, right?

"Don't breathe at all." He muttered.

Roger grabbed his shoulder and turned him roughly, green eyes screaming for… something. Mark had a hard time meeting those eyes. The hand remained tight until it lost its will and slid down Mark's pale arm lingering on his hand just a second too long.

_Shit._

_Don't remember._

_Don't think. _

"Mark…"

_Let out the breath you've been holding before you suffocate._

"Roger, you're… you should go talk to her."

And the rocker let go, nodded.

"Yeah …"

The filmmaker looked away as he left.

_I wish I could hide a little while longer._


	2. Fields of Innocense

_And my feelings for you were clouded, but now the truth is clear and I wish I could go back to not knowing._

**Fields of Innocence **

"I'm sorry…Roger, I'm sorry, but I can't…I can't do this anymore. Always fighting, God I thought we were going to be happy, I thought we could be happy…"

Roger watched his girl, her beautiful brown eyes filled with tears; there was always so much intensity in those eyes.

_Your eyes, baby, your eyes._

"We have to end it…I don't know, take a break something. I can't handle this all the time. I can't do this, Roger, I just can't."

He watched his dancer; her sweet, flowing voice trembled with every word, with every word he felt a piece of himself slip away.

"Do you understand Roger? Roger, talk to me… please don't do this. Don't shut yourself off, please, talk to me."

The rocker watched his Mimi, her hair curled down her shoulders, her dark, raven hair that smelled like flowers, like her, like heaven…

"Roger…it's over. For now, at least, it's over. It's over."

"No, no, you love me." He pulled her to him desperately, "I love you, and you love me. I _love_ you. We can make this work we can still make this work."

Mimi pulled herself with much difficulty from his hold and turned away. He found himself shaking and he hated it. Rockers don't shake. Her brown eyes were avoiding his.

_Your eyes, baby, your eyes._

And he knew. A punch to the fucking stomach and he knew.

The words were hard to say, "You… you do still love me don't you?"

But she didn't answer and he grabbed her arms again, desperate for the truth. He stared into those creamy eyes, tears dripping down her cheeks.

"Don't you? Don't you? Don't you?"

He was almost shaking her, not to hurt her, but in a desperate attempt for answers, for the truth. It seemed his whole life sat on the edge of a cliff and if he didn't hear something he'd be pushed off… he'd jump.

"Answer me, answer me, Mimi! If you're going to do this, I need to know! I need to fucking know! Do you still love me?"

"Only when I'm high!"

"...what?"

Immediately, her eyes clouded with regret. She hadn't meant to say that at all, she had wanted to protect him from the truth. He could see it all in her eyes, big, brown and as revealing as fucking ever.

_Your eyes, baby, your eyes._

Roger opened his mouth, but words wouldn't come. Only an incoherent short wail, which he felt ashamed of, but couldn't hold back. Mimi tore herself from his hold, wiping tears away. He ran a hand through his hair, and clenched his jaw tightly.

"I don't know how it happened…or when. I don't know." She couldn't look at him and for that he was extremely thankful, "But between the fighting and everything when I'm not high…I don't feel the same way about you. It's why I haven't been able to give it up, baby, I didn't want to give you up...I didn't want to…"

"…what?"

After all they'd been through…to end like this. Like this. God.

Mimi wrapped her arms around his waist, "I'm sorry, Roger, I'm sorry…I'm so sorry."

_I only love you when I'm high…_

_I only…_

Roger pulled away, "Did you ever love me?"

"What?" Her voice squeaked, horrified, "Of course! Roger, of course I did!"

It wasn't enough for him. Wasn't enough to convince the voices in his head telling him otherwise. And he couldn't look away from her, couldn't get her words out of his head.

_Fucking heroin_

Mimi was trembling, crying, searching his eyes for something, but Roger was stone. Still and tense and solid as a fucking rock, baby.

"I loved you, Roger, you have to believe that. I loved you so much, more than anything or anyone. You were my world, my everything."

_Fuck if I'm going to give into you._

He wanted to say something, hurt her back, get the last word in, but he lost the will to believe…to fight. Some great weight pressed against his chest; he found it difficult to breath.

And Mimi turned away as he left in a mad fury.

_I loved you, more than anything. _

_Your eyes baby your eyes._

And Roger found himself at his old dealer, shelling over what little money he did have, because he couldn't survive tonight without being numb.

_God it hurt._

_Fucking heroin._

Mark would kill him.

_I want to go back to not knowing…ignorance is bliss._


	3. Give Unto Me

_And I'd give anything to take your pain away, to heal you, to save you. Anything._

**Give Unto Me**

"Leave me alone, Mark."

But it was hard to do that when the filmmaker knew that it was different this time that something was terribly wrong. The cold, calculated voice as opposed to screaming anger pressed him to not leave this alone.

"Roger…" Shit, his voice was too shaky. "Roger, I'm not going to leave you alone. I know better…"

"Mark if you don't leave me the fuck alone I'm going to…going to…"

And the raw voice broke off into nothing.

He opened the bedroom door, and heard Roger shift, do something that Mark couldn't see. The rocker sat on the edge of the bed, like stone. Mark took in a deep breath and sat next to him.

The minutes drained away…

"I told you to leave me alone."

Mark smiled, "Yea, well, when the hell do I ever listen to you?"

"Not often enough. I know everything, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah…"

The joking did little to ease his worry. The rocker's voice was too empty.

_Humor is a great mask._

It was hard for Mark to keep his voice steady.

Roger finally spoke again, "I really just want to be alone."

"I know…but that's not what you need."

"And how the fuck do you know what I need?"

The filmmaker turned to him, "I know you."

Tentatively Mark touched Roger's shoulder; the rocker shook violently beneath his touch. That's all it would take. One touch, one feeling… He tightened his hold on the tense shoulder, and felt the stone break.

Roger's head fell to his chest and his strong arms wrapped around Mark desperately pulling the smaller man to him, shaking…

_God, this was serious whatever it was…it was serious_.

Mark stretched pale arms across the tight, smooth back, squeezing, pressing his small frame against Roger. If he was crying, he was crying silently, because there was no noise. Just the constant shaking of a body too thin, infected with HIV, dying...

But still…Roger didn't do this. Roger didn't break down like this unless it was serious. _Oh God this was fucking serious…_

With his arms, the filmmaker led the broken rocker to lie in the bed, and there they stayed wrapped in each other's arms, pressed against each other. Roger's warm cheek pushed against Mark's cool forehead, as he struggled to become stone again… Mark trailed a pale hand across the rocker's back and tried to suppress a shudder.

_So familiar. So fucking familiar._

Roger's fingers trailed lightly down Mark's arm, rubbing the top of his hand delicately. His fingers easily slid between Mark's, and held on with all their strength. The filmmaker took in a shaky breath, closing his eyes in a useless effort to block out his mind.

_Sweaty, shaking, holding on, kissing it all away…all of the pain, all of the suffering, because in the mornings he never remembered anyway… never remembered…_

Roger increased the pressure on his hand, eyes closed, breathing heavy. If only this meant more. Mark opened his eyes, staring at Roger's chest, feeling the man move against him…

_Shit._

_Don't think._

_Don't remember._

_Don't breathe_.

And then Roger let go and turned away.

_So familiar._

Mark let his breathing slow, afraid to move.

"Mimi…she… she said it was over… between me and her."

This _was_ serious.

Mark struggled for words, "She didn't mean it, Rodge, she's said it before. She was just angry, she didn't mean it."

"She wasn't angry this time."

"Yeah, but, I mean you two love each other… you were _made_ for each other, right? You went through so much to be together… just give her some time and…"

Roger paused, deliberately, and then in a whisper, "She said she only loved me when she was high."

Mark's mouth fell open helplessly, sitting up as though it would help him comprehend those words better.

_Fucking serious._

_What do you say to your best friend after his heart's been destroyed?_

"I'm sure she has- she…"

_Anything. Everything_.

Roger sighed, "Maybe she never loved me at all."

Mark turned him around by his shoulder, "No! No…of course she did! Roger, God, she did. Couldn't you see it in her eyes?"

_I can see it in yours._

Mark tried again, "She loved you."

"Don't Mark, don't… you don't fucking know everything. You don't!" Roger stood, pacing, "Drugs can't make you love someone! I mean… fuck! They can do a lot of things, but they can't make you love someone!"

_I only love you when…_

_He only loves you when he's…_

_Don't think, don't remember…don't breathe._

"Mark?"

_Don't think._

"Mark...you…you don't think they can do you?"

_Don't remember._

He shook his head desperately, "No, I uh...no."

"Then why do you have that look in your eyes?"

"Forget it, Roger" He swallowed, his mouth dry, "…forget it."

Mark walked towards the door, but strong hands grabbed him, pulled him back to press too closely to Roger's tense body. Blue eyes automatically went to green, saw the flash of desire within them, _Oh God_…and felt a fire in his stomach.

_Don't fucking breathe._

"Mark…"

The filmmaker pulled from those tight arms, wrenched himself away, escaped before the fire consumed them both.

_I wish I could help you, I wish I could save you. I wish I could… tell you the truth._


	4. Bring Me to Life

A/N: Quick note to help with italics (so sorry they're confusing!) Chapters go back and forth with who they focus on: Ch1-mark, ch2-roger, ch3-mark, this one ch4-roger and so on till the end of the fic. So basically the italic statements refer to the one the current chapter focuses on.(They are not always _conscious_ thoughts either)

Thank you so much to everyone who reviews and for letting me know that those italics were confusing, I really appreciate it!

This chapter did not come out like I was hoping it too, not sure if I like it or not. But I hope that it works for everyone...

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_Wake me up inside…_

**Bring Me to Life**

"Mark…are you there? This is your mother calling…_again_. Why don't you ever answer the phone? I want to know how you're doing sweetie, eating enough, sleeping enough; do you have a new girl yet? Have you shot any new footage, working on a new film?... _working_ at all? Call me honey!"

Click.

Roger sighed and leaned backward in bed. The fender felt good in his hands, his fingers glided along the strings producing some melancholy tune that he wouldn't remember tomorrow. But it felt good. Just about the only thing that felt good lately. And it kept his mind from wandering…

When his mind wandered he thought about the heroin in a bag under his bed, discarded there because Mark hadn't given him normal brooding time. Mark knew him too well, so the heroin stayed there and if his mind wandered it might end up in his veins instead. And Roger just didn't want to deal with all that again.

When his mind wandered he thought about Mimi downstairs, getting high… Well, no, because if she was getting high she'd run up to him and confess her undying love until the drug wore off again. So apparently she must be off the drugs for today. Yesterday she tore up his heart with just a few words… today she was downstairs and he was up and they were separate.

When his mind wandered he thought about dying…something he still couldn't process. The very truth of it made him shake and struggle with thoughts he never wanted to have and worries he just didn't want to deal with.

_Got nothing to live for, but still too afraid of death to be happy you're dying._

_Wonderful._

When his mind wandered he wondered what Mark was hiding from him and he got more frustrated. They didn't keep secrets from each other lightly. It would be a lie to say they didn't keep secrets from each other at all, because they did…they both did.

And now that Mark had let that look in his eyes slip, that shake of his voice… Roger needed to know.

The opening of Mark's bedroom door… set the rocker into action.

Roger set his fender down and strode out of his bedroom. Mark looked up from his place on the table, blue eyes wide.

_That's right, be afraid. _

The filmmaker looked around distractedly, "Uh…hey… I've got to go y'know do some filming down..I was just leav-"

"Mark."

The "no bull shit" in his voice made the filmmaker shut his mouth abruptly. Roger nodded at the couch.

"You've got nothing to do. Nowhere to go. _Sit_…Now."

Mark looked as though he wanted to protest, made a move towards the door. The guitarist growled a little, green eyes hard, and Mark changed his mind, plopping down on the worn couch.

"Look, Mark…" Roger began, sitting next to him, "I know you well enough to know from last night that you're hiding something, lying about something and I want to know what."

The filmmaker looked away, "I…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mark, with anyone else that would've been fucking convincing, but _not_ with me. Now what the hell do you not want me to know?"

Mark stayed silent.

"I know it has to do with drugs…with love and drugs which really doesn't help me out a whole hell of a lot."

Again, silence.

Frustration pricked at the back of Roger's mind, "What? Did Maureen only have sex with you when she was high?"

"Huh? What! No! God..no…" Mark folded his arms, sitting precariously on the edge of the couch.

"Did you get high one time and find yourself falling for someone you hated in the morning?"

Mark stared at him, "No. I never got-"

"Did Maureen slip drugs in your drink in order to seduce you that night that-"

"NO! Roger, where the fuck are you coming up with these things!"

Roger kept his gaze steady, but it was difficult to choke past his next words, "You think I was right? That Mimi never really loved me at all?"

"No!" Mark stood, "I already told you last night that I didn't believe it. She loved you, _anyone_ could see that!"

Roger stood with him, "Yeah, well help me out Marky, because I really need to know what the fuck is going on! Yesterday was not a fun day for me. I find out my girlfriend's been lying to me, then I find out _you're_ keeping shit from me too!"

The filmmaker was struggling with emotion, "Oh, fuck… Roger! Did you ever think that people don't lie to you to hurt you, but to_ protect_ you?"

"I don't want your _protection_, Mark! I want someone to tell me the fucking truth!"

"I…" For a moment he looked like he'd tell, but then the walls were up again, all emotion gone from his features. "I can't."

_No…No._

The filmmaker turned to leave, made it halfway to the door before Roger had the sense to run after him. He reached out, turned Mark around, and thrust him against the door, rough hands holding pale arms down roughly.

"Goddamnit Mark!" He growled, "You're going to tell me now what the fuck is going on!"

A hoarse, shaking whisper…

"…Roger…"

The filmmaker shook in his hands, cool blue eyes turned to look into his; suddenly aflame…there was something in them.

Something in those firey blue…

Something about being so close.

Something so familiar.

"Roger?"

Something in the fire, in the closeness, in the familiarity, in the rage that burned inside him lead him to act without thinking…

"Mark…Mark if you don't tell me…"

He felt himself running, finding, losing grip, falling.

And he kissed Mark.

He did it. Roger kissed him. Roger kissed Mark. One moment he was angry, pushing, yelling, and then his lips were on Mark's like that's where they should've been all along.

But Mark was kissing back. Roger's hands lost their hold on the filmmaker's arms, sliding around across Mark's back easily. The filmmaker's hands slid through Roger's hair and down his neck.

They stopped only to take quick, deep breaths, before diving into another kiss and somehow they found themselves on the couch, living in each others embrace, burning with each moment that passed, lips locked, connected by that embrace.

_I've run a long way…_

Maybe he should've been questioning why he was kissing his best friend.

A soft mutter between kisses.

"This is the best fight we've ever had."

A smile.

"Hey… it's not over yet."

_I've run a long way…_

Maybe he should've wondered why they so quickly tore each other's shirts away, bare chest breathing desperately against bare chest in an embrace that nearly crushed them both…

"We're not going to…"

"No…we don't need to."

_I've lost my grip…_

Mark lay on top of him, eyes closed, glasses and shirt long since discarded. They were both covered in sweat, but Roger refused to let go.

Maybe he should've stopped…maybe he should've asked all these things…

But it just felt right.

_I've fallen._


	5. Anywhere

_By the morning light…_

**Anywhere**

"Oh shiiiiiit…"

It came out in a short stifled hiss as Mark opened his eyes and realized he was shirtless lying on top of his equally shirtless best friend.

_Shit._

Underneath him Roger snored on, but Mark needed to get out of there. Get out and think before he had to deal with Roger, but it would be difficult to do that without waking up Roger in the process.

_Shit._

…

_Okay... there's the roll away method. Just shift my weight and roll away, simple and quick… little movement, little noise… disturbance to a minimum. Uh… _

Mark stretched out his hands to grip the side of the couch and the cushion, gently pushing himself away from the couch

…and on to the floor.

"Ow!" Mark threw a hand over his mouth too late… _shit_.

Roger stirred on the couch and opened green, groggy eyes.

_Look innocent!_

_Look innocent! _

_I've done nothing wrong face _

_I've done nothing wronnng…_

"Mark, what are you doin on the floor?" His sleep laden voice asked as his eyes surveyed the scene before him. "And where's your shirt? And where the fuck's my shirt?"

The filmmaker said nothing, but watched as Roger's eyes clouded over with the memory of last night. "…oh."

Mark bit his lip, "You…you remember?"

"Fuck Mark… How could I forget?" Roger stood, crossing his arms over his chest, "You, me…the wall and the couch…"

"Yeah…" Mark put on his shirt, and turned away.

The rocker threw his shirt on with a rough sigh and walked up close behind Mark. The filmmaker could feel Roger's warm breath tickling his neck.

_Too familiar…_

"Roger, I…You and Mimi just broke up and I don't want-"

"Look can we not talk about it right now? I can't now..." Mark felt Roger come closer behind him, "Don't even want to think-"

_Careful. Don't let your voice shake._

"Yeah, sure." Mark pulled away from Roger's increasing proximity.

A long weighted pause in which Mark hoped all subjects would be dropped. But no… Not today. Not now.

"…You never answered my question yesterday."

"I…I don't know what you mean."

_Do something…anything._

Mark started to make his tea, hands shaking so that the cup nearly fell from his hand when he took it out of the cupboard.

Roger approached him in a couple, swift strides, "Mark, no way in hell am I going through this again."

"Really Roger… I don't know why you can't just leave it alone."

"And I don't know why the fuck you can't tell me!"

"This is getting ridiculous…" He muttered, cup in his left hand, wobbling because he couldn't fucking hold it together.

Roger grabbed his hand and pushed him against the cupboard. Cup flew out of his hand and to the ground, smashing into bits at their feet.

"Please…Mark. Give me some _fucking_ respect." Their eyes met in a heated gaze, connected by an instinctive desire, "I can't keep doing this or…or it'll be like last night."

Something about those green eyes broke his barriers… Something about those eyes broke _him_. And when he tried to speak again it came out hoarse and shaky.

"That was my…my only tea cup."

_Fucking voice…_

Roger sighed, releasing his hand and retreating to the couch. The filmmaker hesitated, and then followed, sitting next to him.

"I'll buy you another cup."

"With what?"

"I don't know. Something. A damn tea cup can't cost a fucking fortune."

"Yeah I… guess not."

"Tell me what the fuck happened… before. Tell me what you're so damn afraid of me finding out. I hate secrets. I hate this… I hate not knowing."

"I… I can't…"

Roger ran his hand through his hair, "_Mark_…"

He could only resist Roger for so long.

_Your eyes…_

When they'd fought after Angel's funeral, something in Roger's voice destroyed him. Something in Roger's voice called Mimi back to life. There was something so powerful in…

_That voice._

Mark swallowed and looked away. He could lose everything right now, his heart raced. It was hard to… to…

_Breathe. _

_Don't fucking breathe._

"When you went through withdrawal… at first… Right after April died. You well.. y'know…"

_Went crazy…_

He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans, "And you'd get so lonely… you'd reach out for me, because I was the only one there. You'd kiss me. And it'd…it'd escalate like it did…last night and we'd end up kissing, holding on to each other for hours until you finally fell asleep. And it'd be a lot like it was… last night. Only you never… never remembered the next morning."

Mark waited…for an explosion, a sound, but he heard nothing and refused to turn and look. _Oh God…I made a mistake in telling him this. _He bit his lip, tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.

_Shit. _

He couldn't keep his hands from shaking.

"I always…I guess I always thought it was because of the drugs...I mean after a month of withdrawal… it all stopped. I thought it was just because of the withdrawal that you… were so needy. That that was the only reason you'd want to… be with me like that…"

A harsh breath from the rocker. A harsh, shaking intake of breath and Mark refused to look at him. So afraid of what his eyes would hold.

"I…oh fuck." Roger's voice had a weak quality to it that Mark hadn't heard since Mimi almost died.

It scared him and he waited for more, heart racing, beating the shit out of his chest.

Roger breathed in again, harsh and shaky, "I didn't… didn't rape you or anything?"

"No!" Mark turned to him at last and saw his best friend on the brink of something frightening, "Roger! No… you didn't! Nothing like that! God…I…"

The rocker looked unconvinced, "I thought that was why you didn't want to tell me…"

"Roger…" Mark sighed, turning away again, "I… I didn't want to tell you because I'm… ashamed. I thought… you'd hate me. Get mad. I feel so fucking guilty..."

"…Why?"

"Because I _could have stopped it_! You were never forceful, just one kiss. That's all you ever tried. It's because of _me _that it was so much more. You were in withdrawal you didn't… you couldn't have any control over your actions… but me…I…"

_Oh, God…_

_Don't cry, stupid…don't cry._

"I _used_ you…while you were... " He lost the battle with tears, but his head was in his hands again so Roger wouldn't see them. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry."

A long pause, the information soaked into the silent loft. Surrounded them, Roger shifted next to him.

"Mark…"

"No, no, I did. I was in my right mind, I shouldn't have done that. I should never have fucking done that…"

"It's okay. I don't care…it's okay."

"It's _not _okay!"

And all his carefully built walls crumbled to the ground beneath him. He hated the fucking screech to his voice and the way the tears came out slowly, nearly foreign to his face. He didn't cry. He never cried, but the guilt had been wearing away at him and…

_Shit._

"Mark…I don't hate you."

Strong arms wrapped around his waist, tightened across him. Roger leaned into Mark.

"Roger…"

"It _wasn't_ your fault."

"Roger we can't."

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

"Roger." Mark pulled away from the hold, standing. "Roger what are we doing?"

"_Please_. Not today." The rocker sighed, "Tomorrow we'll figure shit out. But for today can we just be? I need to stop thinking and just… just…. It feels right with you…"

_And here's where you decide. Here's where you decide if you want to give in and let go or walk back to not feeling, to not hurting… _

Mark watched him.

_Not hurting…that's a laugh. _

Blue eyes searched green for reassurance.

_Humor is the perfect mask._

Searched for anything.

_I'd go anywhere but back._

Mark sat down finally, leaning into Roger whose strong arms once again wrapped around him tightly. Like they were afraid to let go. He felt Roger's chest breathe against him, with him…

_In and out. _

_Even if this is just for today… _

_In and out._

He closed his eyes.

_And nothing really matters in your arms… there's just you, just me… just us._


	6. Wash It All Away

A/N: Quick note to say a huge thank you to everyone who has been reviewing and reading. Seriously it means so much to me to hear that people are enjoying what I'm writing, can not say thank you to you all enough. 1,985 hits, on 12 favorites lists, and 11 alerts, that's so very cool! Thanks for all your support everyone. And I say this now because this is going to be the lightest chapter for a while…. It just gets more angsty from here on in.. just to warn you all. "

_I can't handle not knowing…_

**Wash It All Away**

"I don't really know why I'm here…"

Roger folded his arms across his chest, gripping tight to his jacket sleeves as a breeze blew by him. He stared at Angel's grave and tried to formulate words.

"I visited April earlier. I guess I just thought it'd make things clearer coming to visit you two."

…

_Fuck, this is stupid._

What exactly had he hoped to achieve by coming here?

He hadn't visited here since Angel's funeral. Death wasn't something he was ever willing to face, but when he woke up in bed this morning with Mark in his arms. This seemed like a sensible place to go…

Roger didn't ask for advice.

Didn't ask for help.

It wasn't his thing.

So coming to the people he loved who couldn't talk anymore seemed like the perfect solution.

_Fuck, I'm stupid. _

"Roger?"

The rocker's mouth fell open as he turned, arms falling to his sides. For half an instant he expected Angel's ghost to appear in front of him and reveal some profound message of truth that would solve all his problems or tell him how stupid he was being, but there was no ghost. Just Collins carrying flowers and smiling at the sight of the rocker.

Roger folded his arms, closed his mouth into a frown, and tried to act like he wasn't at all scared just then, because of course… rockers never get scared.

_Play it off. Play it off..._

He coughed a little, "Uh...Hey, Collins… thought you were… out of town."

"I _was_…there's a thing that happens after you're out of town it's called, y'know, coming back." He said with a laugh as he set the flowers down.

Roger rolled his eyes in response, lips forming into a friendly smirk.

"And some kind of welcome I get from you, huh?" Collins took him into a warm, tight hug. "You're about the last person I expected to find here…"

He sighed, shrugged a little, "Yeah, well…"

"A lot of shit happening back in the loft?"

Collins knew him too well.

_When the fuck did I start letting so many people get so damn close?_

Roger turned away from the grave, arms still folded tightly across his chest. He could hear Collins kneel down, kiss his fingers and knew he was laying those fingers on the stone.

"I'll come back tomorrow, baby, but I think I should deal with this right now." He muttered.

The rocker turned, "Collins, you don't have to-"

But Collins was already standing, putting an arm around Roger's shoulder, and leading him down the hill, "Is it Mimi?"

"Well, yeah but…"

"It's more than that?"

He nodded.

"Mark?"

Roger swallowed, looking down, "…yeah."

"You want to get a drink and talk about it?"

"Collins I don't-"

"I know, I know tough ass. You don't take advice from nobody no how." Collins said with a laugh, "Just come and have a drink with me, as my friend, huh?"

Roger sighed, "I probably should be getting-"

"Come on Roger…" He insisted, "You know what happened the last time you said no to me."

Roger really didn't know, but he wasn't in the mood to find out.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few drinks later…

"So Mimi broke up with you… then what?"

Roger ran his hand through his hair, "Nothing… No, not nothing... Mark was hiding something from me…"

"Hiding something?"

"I yelled at him."

He paused to take another drink, Collins watched him carefully.

"And?"

"Held him against the door."

"…and?"

Roger drank some more, closed his eyes.

"Come on…" Collins smacked him lightly in the arm, "It couldn't have been that bad…"

The rocker didn't say anything, held on to the counter.

"Did you hit him?"

_I wish…would've made life a whole hell of a lot simpler_

"Roger?"

"I kissed him."

Collins paused.

"What?"

The guitarist stood, threw his hands into the air, "I kissed him, okay? I kissed Mark…I did it. I…I kissed him."

"…Well, is that all?"

Roger shot him a look.

There was the whole Mark and him during withdrawal thing... but that's Mark's secret to tell.

"Look, I don't get you man." Collins said with a shake of his head, "You're always pushing people away. Always afraid of love… this _isn't_ a bad thing."

"Woah. Who said anything about love? Where did fucking love come into this? I said _kiss_! _Kiss_! ...I _kissed_ him."

"So he didn't kiss back?"

Roger shook his head, taking another swig of alcohol, "Oh he kissed back all right."

"So what's the problem?" Collins leaned on the counter, "I mean really."

"The _problem_ is that I'm fucking dying and he's _not_! The _problem_ is that Mimi and I _just _ended! The _problem_ is that I'm fucking tired of getting hurt and hurting anyone I get involved with! The _problem_ is I don't know what's the right fucking thing to do!"

He shrugged, smiling a little, "Well for starters you could try sitting down before you get both our sorry asses kicked out."

Roger sighed, collapsing on the stool.

"Are you still in love with Mimi?"

"Yes."

Didn't even have to hesitate. He knew that. He knew that he loved her that she broke his heart, but that he loved her.

"Are you… in love with Mark?"

The rocker paused, took in a deep breath, thought about those kisses, thought about his best friend, the one person that he knew better than anyone else…

"I don't know."

"Before you can do anything that's what you need to figure out." Collins said, finishing off his drink.

Roger looked up from his fixation with the counter top, "…How?"

Collins laughed, "If I knew the answer to that question, boy…I'd be rich. Fuckin' rich I tell ya."

The rocker smiled in response and stared into the distance.

_Fuck this is stupid._

He was afraid to go back.

Afraid to deal with Mark.

Afraid to deal with death.

Afraid of everything.

_God, grow up. Be a real fucking rocker for once in your life. _

Roger stood, put a hand on Collin's shoulder, "I'm gonna go…"

Collins smiled, "_Go…_ deal with your shit?"

The rocker nodded, "Yeah…you should stop by later. Mark'll want to see you."

"I will." Collins pulled him into another hug, "Take care of yourself, man; good luck."

"Thanks…" Roger gestured a hand towards the bar, "For uh, y'know..."

Collins nodded, "No problem."

The rocker walked out of the bar.

Mark.

What good would love do?

Roger was dying anyway.

Why did it matter?

_  
Because I die…without you._


	7. I Must Be Dreaming

A/N: There's a line from Feeling Electric in here, I couldn't help it and if you can find the line, mucho points to you:-) This was by far the most difficult chapter to write, because I can't begin to imagine how difficult this would be. Thanks again for your reviews!

Edit afterwards: I'm so sorry if this is at all confusing; I received a few reviews of people who were confused, which is totally understandable. I as the author know what's going on so it's not something I can really catch easily when editing. Thanks for letting me know. If it is _too_ confusing I could try rewriting it for you all so people who are reading now if you leave a review tell me if a rewrite would be good. And don't worry about making me mad/hurt, this is constructive and it's _good. _Mmkay, shutting up now.  Thanks!

_I've frozen inside myself and turned away…_

**I Must be Dreaming**

"Roger?"

Mark rolled over in the rocker's bed, but it seemed like he was the only one in it. Seemed like, because without his glasses he could only see blurs of shapes and colors.

"Roger?"

Nothing.

The rocker must've gotten up and left early or it was late, but either way it was rare that Roger woke up before him… Where the hell would he go?

"And where the hell are my glasses?"

The filmmaker leaned over the side of the bed to feel the floor for his glasses, but misjudged his leaning space and rolled off the bed instead.

"Ow!"

_Two days in a row… nice, Mark, nice._

With a sigh of pain, Mark felt blindly underneath and around the bed with both hands, discarding sheets of music and crumpled pieces of paper along the way. Finally, his left hand felt the familiar cool,square shape of his glasses towards the front of the bed.

_Finally._

Mark brought his right hand out from somewhere underneath the bed, but as he did the hand lightly grazed against something small, plastic…

And he froze.

_It couldn't be…_

Shaky hand brought his glasses to his eyes; the other one grabbed the plastic… plastic bag…

Plastic bag full of…

Of…

_It-it couldn't be…_

_Roger wouldn't. _

_He wouldn't do this to himself. _

_He wouldn't do this to me. _

_Not again, no…_

A trembling hand brought the bag up so he could see it in the light…

_No, no, no…_

A bag of heroin….

There weren't words that could possibly describe the way Mark at that moment was consumed…

the way his heart froze in his chest and his breathing became so hard his lungs burned,

the way his mind suddenly forgot how to think

…the way his body shook struggling to keep under control.

_No, no, no…_

It was all he could think.

"No, no, no…"

All he could say.

_Shit…_

_fuck._

He couldn't comprehend… couldn't understand it.

_Not again, not fucking again._

He couldn't understand why Roger would choose this.

Couldn't understand either this sudden, illogical urge he had to shoot up. To remember that total numbing he'd felt years ago in high school the couple of times he'd tried when dragged to parties. But still it made no sense, because he hated it. Because he'd seen what it had done to April…to Roger. Hated that it still haunted his nightmares, one of many sneering, hateful voices.

_Hahaha, I'm heroin I took your fucking best friend away. I ruined his life and I'll ruin yours too._

But he just wanted to forget how betrayed and hurt he felt. Wanted to get back at Roger and it was selfish and stupid but this was the ultimate revenge.

_You fuck with your life again, I fuck with mine._

There were clean needles at the bottom of his dresser drawer, he kept them to serve a reminder of Roger's days suffering because of the drug… why he ever thought he'd need a reminder was beyond him.

But he knew how to set one up.

It was like riding a bike, something you never forgot.

For once, Mark didn't think, just did…just gave into the illogical desire…

He got the needle ready, slowly, methodically as though this had all been planned, rehearsed long ago.

Roger had worked so hard, gone through so much…they both had. And then Roger…

_Roger…_

For the first time since he found the bag, his hands weren't shaking. It felt right, holding the needle over his vein.

_In and out._

_Breathing._

_In and out._

It was funny how shooting up was all he could think of to do. As if it would solve shit…but with the way everything was going he would end up alone and miserable anyway.

_So in the end… what's one more suicide?_

Blue eyes stared at the needle, at his pale arm…

"Fuck!" Mark screeched, dropping the needle to the ground and swallowing against the bile that rose up in his throat.

_Sick._

_So sick._

_Can't believe I almost did that…_

_I did not almost do that._

Mark gripped on to the side of the table, knuckles going white.

_I'm the one…. Who fought with him. _

_Who went through hell with him… _

_Fuck._

_  
It was me. It was me…_

Wouldn't he have noticed if Roger was high? Unless he only got high a couple times with Mimi… maybe right before they broke up… And then…. _Oh God…_

_Oh shit…_

_Was he going through some kind of withdrawal when he kissed me?_

_Oh fuck…_

The filmmaker closed his eyes; found that he was shaking again.

This was too much emotion.

He didn't do emotion.

He didn't feel.

But there was no way to fucking detach from this. This was about as personal as you could get…

And he'd never been more…

Angry…betrayed…hurt…

...worried.

_Don't breathe…don't think…don't feel…_

Mark stared at the door

_Don't shake so much._

And stood his ground.

_Don't lose control._

This was it.

Mark could let a lot of things that really killed him inside slide off as though they didn't really matter.

But this was not one of them.

_Don't fucking breathe._


	8. Thoughtless

_When you can't say sorry…_

**Thoughtless**

"Mark, I'm ba-"

The moment Roger walked into the loft he knew that something had happened. Something was very wrong. Just the way simply breathing seemed to echo warily in the loft's silence.

_Not fucking good, whatever it is. _

He coughed a little, shrugged the feeling off, and shut the door behind him. _So fucking quiet._ His hands shook… the last time the loft had been this eerie he'd found April dead, covered in blood in the bathroom. He swallowed.

"Mark?"

Roger walked to each room, throwing the door open in worry and frustration.

"Mark?"

He saved the bathroom for last, but each time he opened a door he was greeted with an empty room. No filmmaker sleeping or showering or fiddling with his camera…

_What the…?_

He turned back towards the kitchen, and froze mid-step. There was Mark the whole time… sitting on the couch… staring at him.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" Roger said crossing to him in angry strides, "Why didn't you answer me?"

Nothing but silence. Green eyes narrowed, as he folded his arms over his chest. If only he could decipher the look in those blue eyes, but it was a combination of so many emotions and the rest of Mark was rigid, stone, holding everything back.

_Oh fuck._

Roger sighed, "What? Are you mad at me for leaving this morning and not telling you where I was going?"

The filmmaker said nothing, just that same look. The look that was tearing him apart. Roger rolled his eyes trying to shrug this off, but there was a sinking feeling in his stomach and a rising anger in his chest that told him this wasn't going to go away.

"Mad cause I didn't want to talk about the fucking kissing yet?"

And Mark looked away, diverted that blue gaze, but that wasn't it. That wasn't it at all and Roger knew it. He could feel it. There was something else.

"_Mark_," He growled, "don't start this shit with me again. If you've got something to say to me you fucking _say_ it, all right?"

Still nothing.

The rocker threw his hands into the air, starting towards his room.

"Why'd you do it?"

And there was Mark's voice. Roger turned. There was the filmmaker's voice and it was controlled…too damn controlled, like it took all of Mark's energy from the moment Roger walked in to work up enough control to be able to talk without his voice shaking.

_Oh Marky, I know you too well. _

_Too fucking well._

"What? What'd I do this time?"

"I…know… Roger."

"What? Mark? What the fuck do you know?" The rocker approached Mark, fists clenched, "This is worse than the fucking silent treatment!"

Mark stood, and for the first time those blue eyes were cold as stone.

_I'm a fucking stone baby._

"I know about the heroin."

…

_Heroin?_

_Heroin?_

…_Oh…_

_Oh!_

_Shit!_

_Have a come back asshole! How'd he find-_

"How…how'd you find out about…It was only…"

"Roger, I _found_ it."

_We've moved on to controlled anger now…nice._

"What the hell were you doing getting into my shit?"

"I was looking for my _glasses_! This isn't about me Roger."

_That's right you're losing control of the anger, and you're going to walk away and leave me be so I don't have to deal with this now._

"Look, I wasn't going to use it or anything!"

"Like hell you weren't going to use it! What the fuck were you going to do with it then?"

"It's not any of your fucking business!"

There was a pause, a tense silence filled only with the sound of their angered breathing.

"Not…not any of my business?" The filmmaker shook his head, "Not any of my fucking business? Do I have to _remind_ you what you went through? I'm your best friend! You're a complete fucking idiot if you think _this_ isn't my business!"

The rocker's hands fell to his sides, Mark wasn't walking away. The filmmaker had lost control and he was still standing there, pale fists clenched tightly.

"Mark…" He sighed, "Mark you know I wouldn't…"

But that was a lie.

So he let it trail off into the silence of the loft.

When Mark spoke again he'd regained control of his voice, careful, calculated anger as opposed to the screaming from before.

"Did it have anything to with… with the kissing?"

"Did what-"

"…heroin."

_Oh shit…_

_Shit…_

"No. Mark, no. That was me, that was all me. I'm not using. I'm not." Roger took his arm tightly, green gazed into blue.

_Believe me…damn it! _

The filmmaker shook him off, walked away, his entire body tense.

"I'm clean, Mark. I'm fucking clean! Why can't you trust me?

"_This!_" And Mark lost that control again as he picked up something from the floor and waved it in front of Roger, "_This _is why I can't fucking trust you Roger!"

_A needle?_

_A needle ready to be shot into…_

It scared him. Scared him because seeing it like that, so close to him… in the middle of a fight…it became something he almost couldn't resist. Roger turned away, shaking with the effort of trying to hold himself back.

"Mark…that wasn't… It was in a bag under my bed…"

_Believe me. Fucking believe me._

"…I know."

…_What?_

"You know?"

_Then how the hell?_

_No…_

_No, no, no…_

The rocker had to swallow back the anger…fight back the worry. He was never as good as Mark at controlling…

"_Mark…_"

"_You_ have no fucking right to judge _me_, Roger!"

_Ouch._

"But Mark, you don't know-"

"Oh I know, Roger. I know plenty. I knew it all, how it left you shaking, crying, hurting… how it destroyed you… and I still held this fucking needle over my vein… I was going to do it."

The image of Mark shooting up scared him, and he turned to look his best friend in the eyes… "But…_why_?"

"Why did _you_?"

_To relax…_

_To make things easier…_

_To stop feeling…_

_To stop hurting…_

Mark nodded as though he could read his fucking mind.

The worry that gripped him in that moment drove his anger, his frustration. "Mark! Mark you fucking idiot! You asshole! You don't understand, you don't get it or you wouldn't… you wouldn't touch this shit!" He grabbed the needle from him, "_This_ is why I'm dying right now! _This_ ruined my life! _This_ killed April!"

"I know. I just wanted to make sure you knew it too."

Roger took one last look at it, before throwing it against the wall with one arm. They both watched as the tube shattered, its contents spilling to the floor with the broken shards. The filmmaker sighed and turned to leave.

"Where… where are you going?"

"It doesn't matter..."

"…Mark?"

The filmmaker took the handle in his hand, but before he opened the door he paused, closing his eyes, "You know when I found that… I think…" He let out a shaky breath, "I think a part of me died."

And Roger could only watch as Mark walked out.

_Fuck…_

_Fuck…_

He collapsed on the couch, head in hands.

_Why the hell did I even… shit…_

_I don't even have to be in a relationship to hurt someone. _

_Stupid. _

_I'm so fucking stupid._

Roger was shaking and he hated it.

_This shouldn't bother me…_

_But it does._

Just thinking about the way Mark eyes were filled with hurt, worry, betrayal… Just thinking about those eyes he found himself filled with the kind of guilt and regret he hadn't felt since April…

_Your eyes, baby, your eyes._

Roger sat back, ran a shaky hand through his hair. Struggled with the notion that things might not ever be the same between them and that scared him more than anything. Losing Mark… losing what they had… _Oh God…_

It was worse than losing Mimi. It was harder than dying. It was more than he could take….

_He shouldn't mean this much to me…_

_But he does._


	9. Missing

A/N: I'm so sorry for the lack of updates for such a long time, lot's of school work and next week I have two research papers to write, but I will try to get the next chapter out before this weekend ends. Thank you so much everyone who reviewed the last chapter, seriously, I really appreciate it so much.

_Isn't something missing?_

**Missing**

"Great…"

He muttered in a white puff of air.

It was cold.

No… freezing and Mark didn't think to bring a coat in his rush to get out of the loft.

And as the snow started to fall on his coat-less shoulders it all seemed just too damn perfect.

Perfect way to end the perfect day that involved finding heroin under your ex-junkie best friend's bed, almost shooting up, fighting with the best friend… storming out of the loft into a snow storm without a coat.

_Perfect_.

He sighed and wrapped thin arms around himself in a useless effort to keep warm. Although, after a fight the cold felt good. It froze the heated feelings within him.

_I like being numb…_

It had been awhile since they'd had a fight this intense… it wasn't even their most extreme fight. No one threw in a punch, there wasn't a whole lot of screaming going on…. But the subject matter. Oh the fucking subject matter.

Mark leaned against a wall near a group of homeless people who huddled around a trash can fire in hopes of getting some warmth. Surprisingly he fit right in with them. Surprisingly he didn't feel naked and vulnerable without his camera right now. It was strange, he always hid behind his camera on the streets, but he didn't have it with him now and for some reason it was okay. For some reason… he felt like he belonged here.

_How fucked._

He rarely felt like he belonged in his group of friends, but he felt like he belonged now with a group of homeless people on a street even though he had a home, even though he'd eaten yesterday.

But he didn't have a coat, didn't have a home he wanted to go back to anytime soon, didn't have food now…. It fit. He belonged.

He slid to the wet, snowy ground, keeping his back pressed against the wall behind him.

It was getting late.

Roger would probably worry.

Or maybe he wouldn't.

He didn't worry much about Mark…

No that was a lie.

He could still remember Roger worrying over him many different times just in his own way.

"_Hey Mark…you should eat this… I had some earlier."_

"_I'm not really hungry." _

"_Fuck Mark when was the last time you ate?"_

"_Roger…"_

"_I'm serious Mark…I'll kick your ass if you don't eat this soup."_

"_I'm feeling sick… you eat it."_

"_And leave you starving? How much of an ass hole do you think I am?"_

"_I ate earlier."_

"_Mark you take back that fucking lie right now."_

"_Roger…"_

"_You eat this now. Or I will hold you down and pour it down your fucking throat myself! …What? Don't think that I won't."_

"_Roger! Roger let go! Get off me! Stop Roger no! Ow! Ow!"_

"_Last chance, Marky boy, this soup is getting in you one way or another." _

"_Fuckyooou!"_

"_Well now that you've chosen-"_

"_FINE! Don't! Roger I'll eat it on my own. Fuck!" _

_A self satisfied laugh, "Thought so."_

Mark sighed pulling his arms closer around his shoulders as the memory faded away into the bitter cold around him.

And as if matters weren't complicated enough as they were…. The kiss…es. The kissing. God it was amazing, but just another product of withdrawal?

_Fuck._

It was hard enough getting over that the last time. Well he never really got over it, just moved past it. But this time Roger remembered so it made it impossible to just let this go… to let it hide within him, boil down there till it burned him alive.

And he remembered… their first kiss…

"_I can't…I need it you don't understand. I need it, I need it, I need it. Let me go please let me go."_

"_Roger… no. Roger, I can't."_

"_Please… I'm so lonely. It hurts, Mark, it hurts I need something I need it I need her. I need April…but she's not there… she's not here. Mark, please… please I need… I need…"_

_He didn't know what to say. How to comfort someone who wasn't all together there. He held on to Roger's shoulders and said nothing. Nothing at all._

_The tears in Roger's eyes…the shaking… the sickness… covered in sweat and desperately clinging to anything near by._

"_Mark…please I just need something. I need someone. Someone…something… someone…I need you. I need you…I please."_

_He froze._

"_I need you Mark. I need you."_

_And Roger leaned forward desperately, clinging, grabbing…kissing. _

_Roger kissed him. _

_Just like that. And it was like that's exactly where his lips belonged. _

_And though Mark knew this wasn't really Roger that it would be wrong… he couldn't help but give in to this feeling in his gut he never realized was there before. _

_Give into the kiss which seemed to wash away the loneliness he'd been feeling in its fire, in its connection. _

_He couldn't stop._

_The kissing, the holding… _

_Maureen was out fucking some guy._

_The grabbing, the kissing…_

_Roger was suffering through withdrawal._

_The holding, the grabbing…_

_And Mark was kissing his best friend. _

_Perfect…_

Mark swallowed back the sick feeling in his throat. He hadn't let himself remember that in its entirety… for such a long time. It was like watching a movie of other people that you felt far too connected to.

It was getting late.

He was shaking, trembling hard and his fingers and toes were numb.

It was freezing.

Roger would probably worry….

But for once he just didn't care.

_Though I'd die to know you love me…_


	10. Where Will You Go?

_And you're always just a little too late_

**Where Will You Go?**

"Hello?"

"Collins…have you seen Mark?"

"Not since I've been back…."

"Fuck!"

"Roger?"

"…"

"Roger what's wrong?"

"We had a fight."

"Okay…that happens."

"No it was bad, it was really bad. I did… I did something bad… I don't think he'll forgive me."

"Roger…there's nothing that you could do that Mark wouldn't forgive you for…"

"No…there is. There is. And I did it."

"…_Not_… no. Roger…"

"It's not what you think Col." He paused, sighed, "Well it is, but I didn't. I couldn't go through with it…but Mark...doesn't know that. We had a fight and he left… yesterday. Collins, fucking _yesterday_! I don't know where the hell he could've gone. I tried Maureen and Joanne. I don't know…I don't know where else to go. I don't."

"…Roger first you need to calm down."

"I can't! I…shit! It was snowing all night! Where the hell would he go?

"Did you check with Mimi?"

"He wouldn't…I mean I don't think he'd be comfortable going there…"

"Are you sure?"

Roger really wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"Roger?"

"All right…I'll check it out…"

"Good…try not to worry too much and if you still can't find him by tonight, _call_ me. I'll go out looking with you."

"Yeah, okay. Bye…"

Roger sat the phone down and sighed.

_Not good._

The last person he wanted to run into was Mimi, but he was out of options. He threw on his coat, grabbed Mark's, and headed down the flight of stairs to Mimi's.

And paused.

_Mimi… _

_Mimi, Mimi…_

_Shit._

His fist shook as he held it just inches from the door. The last time he'd seen her she'd broken his heart. The last time he'd seen her he hadn't kissed Mark. The last time he'd seen her she was crying and sad and just as beautiful as ever.

_God…_

He knocked twice, steeling himself for her presence.

The door swung open

There was not enough preparation in the world to help him survive seeing her again.

Her beautiful, brown eyes were wide with surprise at the sight of him, her hair was up in a messy pony tail, she opened her mouth a little.

"…Roger?"

_Speak! Damn it, say something!_

"Mark…uh… do you… have you seen Mark?"

She shook her head a little, "No, why?"

"I…just can't find him."

"Oh…" Mimi watched him carefully, "About the other night, Roger…"

_No, no, no…_

_Don't…please._

"Roger…I was wrong." She looked down, "About loving you anyway… I mean it was just… a different kind of in love when I wasn't high, less intense and needy… but it was…it was still there…"

He shook his head, "Mimi…"

"I didn't want you to walk away from us thinking that I never loved you. Heroin… it can't do that. I'm sorry…I'm sorry I thought that…"

"Don't do this now…Mimi, don't do this."

She looked back up at him, "Do what? Roger it's not like that. I didn't meant that we-"

"I've… I've got to go." He said, and still carrying Mark's coat he left before she could react.

_Fuck…_

_Nothing's ever that simple, is it?_

Thankfully it had stopped snowing, but the ground was covered and slushy. Roger looked around, desperately…

_Shit…this is impossible._

He wandered into a nearby alley, looked along the walls, refrained from calling Mark's name, because honestly who the hell searches the entire of New York City for one person? This was…

_Impossible._

"Hey man you got a light?"

Roger turned, slowly. Two men…who really didn't look like they needed a light…_perfect_.

_And pretty damn familiar…_

An image of Collins flashed through his mind, and he turned and tried to make an escape out of the alley.

Large, strong hands pushed him back into the alleyway. Roger backed away slowly, facing them, hands pulled into fists.

"Where you think you're goin, man?"

The rocker bit back his sarcastic response; he didn't have time for this.

He needed to find Mark..

"Look I don't want any trouble."

One of the men smiled, "Neither do we. Just want your money."

He threw a punch at the rocker's face, but Roger ducked out of the way the air of the swing brushing against him in its wake.

_Perfect. _

Roger punched back, hard in the man's gut, but before he could react the second one was on him, cutting his fist across Roger's cheek. He managed to keep from falling, but by that time the first had recovered from the gut punch and was back to return the favor. The rocker doubled over in pain, unable to react as another punch and another were thrown into him.

He could normally hold his own in fights, even against two…

…_but these guys are freakin elephants._

And he hadn't eaten today and didn't get enough physical activity anymore to warrant muscles that could make much of a difference.

Just as he gathered his strength up to retaliate again, _screw it if I'm giving into these bastards… _Just as he started to stand, something… or someone came barreling into one of the men

Of all people…it was freakin scrawny Mark who had managed to push a guy more than twice his size to the ground.

_What kind of crazy ass unrealistic luck was this?_

Roger breathed a sigh of relief and silently thanked whatever manipulator of fate that had made this happen, as he watched Mark throw weak punch after weak punch into the face of his opponent. A kick in his shins brought him back to reality… _oh yeah, two guys._

The rocker brought his fist back, and hit the mugger square in the jaw. As he stumbled backwards, Roger punched two more times and watched the larger man fall to into the frozen snow.

"Uhmph!"

Roger turned at the sound of Mark's painful groan and watched as his best friend was thrown against the alley wall, landing in a small heap in the snow. The mugger started towards him, but Roger was faster.

He swung himself in between Mark and their attacker,

"You're not going to fucking touch him again, you hear me?"

But Roger couldn't stop the hard kick to the groin that brought him to his knees. Couldn't stop the mugger from pushing him to the side.

_Ow. _

Green eyes closed tight against the pain.

_Shit._

He opened them again to see the mugger kicking Mark, whose sudden lack of reaction scared the shit out of Roger. Teeth gritted against the pain, Roger pulled himself slowly to his feet, stared at the mugger.

_Leave him alone._

He took in harsh breaths, one shaky step at a time.

Kick after kick.

"Leave…him…alone." It came out in a hoarse whisper.

The pain in his stomach brought him temporarily to his knees.

Mark, pale and unmoving.

"Leave him alone."

He stood on shaky legs, as a wave of strength surged within him.

Kick pale kick unmoving after mark…

"Leave him alone!"

Roger barreled into the man, bringing him to the ground, copying Mark as he threw punch after punch into the writhing man's face until he passed out. But even then the rocker didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

It was all he could think to do. Fist into face. Fist into face. Possessed with the need to kick this man's ass, fist into face, with the need to protect…

Just barely a whisper, "Rodge…stop…"

The rocker's fists fell to his sides, and he crawled off of the unconscious man. He stumbled over to the filmmaker searching the other man's face for clues as to what to do next. His head throbbed so sharply it was difficult to think straight.

"Mark… Mark where the… hell have you… been?"

"I knew you…were going to…say that." He smiled, winced, "Are you…okay?'

"Thanks…to you…I think…I'll…"

Mark was trembling on the ground, "We need to go…back…to the loft…"

The rocker nodded stood, painfully, and stared at Mark, bruised, pale to the point of almost looking blue, "Shit, Mark…you don't look good."

_You look damn right scary…. _

"Yeah well neither'dyou.." The filmmaker winced and didn't even try to hide the tears in his eyes, "Roger… Roger I can't… I can't feel my hands…or my feet…or my arms…"

_No you don't understand you look like death… like death…_

_Oh God…_

"…Roger?"

He swallowed, put an arm around Mark's back, "I'll…I'll help… you…"

"Just don't…carry me…okay? I hate…to be…carried…I'm notagirl…"

And Roger smiled, nodded, "Well for not being a girl you're pretty damn…"

But then Mark's head rolled to the side, eyes closed, breath shallow.

"Mark? Mark?" Roger shook him slightly. "Mark!"

_Shit, shit, shit_

"Mark?"

He took the smaller in his arms, winced, clenched his jaw, and tried not to think about how much it hurt. Stumbling out of the alleyway, he nearly fell into the side of the building or the middle of the street because he really didn't have the strength to do this.

_Shit, shit, shit_

"Mark!"

Somehow he made it up the stairs and into their loft. It was all a strange blur to him, but he made it and if his heart wasn't racing with so much fucking worry he might even thank that same manipulator of fate once more…for getting him up those stairs. But his chest was ready to collapse and his head was spinning and Mark was on the same table that Mimi nearly died on once before. Roger was holding him, shaking out of pain and worry and bruising and the cold…

Holding Mark was like sleeping in a bed of ice. He remembered now dropping Mark's coat back in the alley way.

_Shit. No… No…_

_Good job…dropping his coat…real smooth._

Roger pulled off his own and wrapped it around Mark who seemed more blue than white, and his rough hands traveled down Mark's arms, rubbing them desperately for warmth. His chin rested on the top of Mark's head.

_So cold…_

"Mark… Mark, wake up." It came out in a shivering, desperate whisper, "Wake up, I need you, wake up! Please, Mark..Marky…don't, don't do this… I'm sorry. Fuck. I didn't…I can't…please, please Mark…I don't…I don't know what to do…"

_Wake up…_

_I need you…_

_A little too late._


	11. Breathe No More

A/n: Sorry for how long this took to get out, but like I said I totally had two research papers to write so that's all I did this week. Thank you so much everyone for your continued reviews and support, and thanks for those who asked some very good questions, I will try to answer them in this chapter. It's really long so hopefully that makes up for its…lateness.

_Too small to matter…_

**Breathe No More**

"I need you…"

_Do you?_

_In and out._

"Please…"

Roger's voice.

_In and out._

It felt like he was being dipped in a pool of freezing water, dipped and held under till he could hardly stand it then pushed out again. It was just as cold out, but here at least he could hear…

"Roger?"

…_Collins?_

And into the water.

"Why didn't you call 911?"

_Because Roger acts on emotion not logic. _

_Because we have no money._

_Because he's afraid…_

_And sometimes stupid._

And into the...

"I should've…should've just told them I didn't have any money. I'm so fucking stupid! I didn't think. I just wanted to get out of there…"

Roger again.

"Come on, man… They probably wouldn't have believed you anyway. And if they did, they would've taken your coat or some shit anyway… try to sell it on the street."

And Collins.

He should know.

And in.

Voices he couldn't understand, strange hands touching him, unable to open his eyes…

And blissfully crashing below the surface again.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The silence was deafening. He was out of the freezing water, but for once he heard nothing. Pale blue eyes blinked open slowly to a room that was far too white… and blurry as hell.

"Mark?"

Blue eyes focused enough to see Collins sitting in a chair next to him, warm eyes filling with relief.

_God this room is too white…_

_What happened?_

_Where's my camera?_

Mark's mind only sluggishly began to work remembering vaguely something about a fight and being very cold…

"Uh…hi…"

Collins grinned, "Uh… hi? Is that all I get from the guy who worried the shit out of me the last two days?"

"Sorry…" Mark blushed, shrugged and then winced because it ached.

"Don't move too much, Cohen." He said, eyes warm, "You took quiet the ass kicking."

"Oh…yeah…" Mark bit his lip as he strained to remember, "What exactly…"

"Wait, I'm going to go get Roger…he's been pacing outside, smoking, worried like crazy."

Collins stood, made a move towards the door, "Oh and I know you two… had a fight, a big one. But give him a chance to explain himself, huh? The whole you passing out and needing a hospital trip has been punishment enough on him…"

_Fight?_

Collins disappeared on the other side of the door.

_Fight?_

_Kiss?_

_What the hell?_

His memories jumbled about in his head uselessly, images of a needle, of Roger pressing him against a wall, snow falling, a foot heading straight for his stomach…

_Oh God…get a frickin grip._

And then as though he'd been pulled from that freezing water for the last time, wrapped in a towel and dried…. He saw and he remembered it all now. Mark swallowed. Roger was the last person in the world he wanted to see right now.

The door opened slowly, creaked a little as it swung, and revealed Roger who took tentative steps inside. His face was black and blue with bruises. The dark circles under his eyes and slouch of his body showed how exhausted he was.

"Hey." The rocker said, breaking the silence with his rough voice.

"…hi."

_If only I could forget…_

"Uh…look, Mark, I…"

The filmmaker looked up into those green eyes, "Are you okay?"

"Yes. Fine…whatever." Roger shook his head, and came closer to the side of the bed, "You're the one…in the hospital. I…I'm sorry…I-"

_Just don't. I can't now._

"What happened?"

The rocker paused, mouth fell open slightly… "You don't remember?"

"I remember enough." Mark said, "But after fighting those guys…it gets really hazy."

"Well…you just kind of passed out."

"From what?"

"I dunno." Roger shrugged, and then a little angrily, "Hypothermia, exhaustion, lack of food, getting your ass kicked…take your God damn pick."

The filmmaker sighed, looked away.

"The doctor said it was probably combination of all that shit. Mark, hypothermia what-"

"Doctor?" Mark made a face, "Oh right…Roger how the hell are we going to pay for this?"

Roger growled a little, "Collins says he has it covered. _Mark…_"

"I don't really want to take charity from Collins though; I mean he needs the money too. He's got medication to pay for and-"

"_Mark…"_

"Should've just stayed in the loft. I'm fine. I was fine… did they do shit for me here other then tell you I was hungry and frozen… and beat up? I could've figured that out."

"Mark!" Roger was on him in seconds, hand grabbing tight to his arm, "Mark… you… God damnit!"

He clenched his jaw, "Roger don't start..."

"Where the hell did you go? I was worried out of my fucking mind! Hypothermia! _Mark!_ Hypothermia! You were _unconscious_! I carried you because I didn't know what else to do and I held you on that same damned table I held Mimi on when she…when she…"

The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by Roger's heavy breathing.

_In and out._

_In and out._

"…We need to get a new table."

"_Mark…_" Roger let go and ran his hand through his hair, "Where were you?"

…

_Do you really want to know?_

_Do you really_

"Out. On the street. Near some homeless people."

The rocker swallowed heavily, looked away, "_Shit_. Mark… no wonder you had frickin hypothermia! Why didn't you call someone and stay with them? Hell…you could've been…shit."

Mark shrugged. It wasn't something he could explain, why the side of the cold snowy street felt so right to him.

"You'd rather have been there… on the street than with… me?"

_Honestly…_

"Yes."

"I…didn't start using. The heroin you found… I bought and I shouldn't have, but after Mimi broke up with me I thought it would help. But you _stopped_ me; before I could use it, you were there. After that I realized…I didn't want to. I'm sorry. Sorry that I bought it, but I didn't…I haven't used."

Mark's hands started to shake as he desperately grasped them together hoping to gain some control.

_Hold it together._

_Hold this together._

"I know…I believe you. It's just… Roger…" Mark sighed, and looked at the wall, the floor, his hands anywhere but those green eyes.

_Don't let him see how much he hurt you._

But Roger saw…Mark could tell just by the way the silence that fell over them _felt_. When it came to Mark… Roger saw everything.

_Ah hell._

"Mark…"

"Look…" He said and cringed at how raw his voice sounded, "Just don't expect me to… It may take me a while to forgive you."

Roger nodded, looked down, "I know. I-…I know."

_Wonderful…_

"Mark, I just didn't want you to think that the kiss…that was me. You know that right?"

He closed his eyes, "Yeah…"

_Sure…_

_Whatever._

"I…" Roger paused, like he wasn't sure if he should tell Mark this, but then… that he needed to tell someone, "Mimi told me she didn't mean that thing...about only loving me when she was high. She says drugs can't do that…"

_Oh but they can._

"She says she thinks she'll always love me."

_And why the hell did you tell me?_

"Oh…"

"Mark I-"

"I know you still love her."

"Well yeah but…"

"…Why are you here? You should be getting her back."

"_Mark._"

"Please…I'm tired. Just…let me sleep…"

_Forever._

Roger approached, taking Mark's hand in his, squeezing it tightly.

"She's not the only one…"

And Mark heard the words he didn't say.

She's not the only one…_I love_

He swallowed, chest constricting, "Roger… _please_."

The rocker frowned, stared at Mark's hand like he never wanted to let it go, strong arms shaking, covered in scars that wouldn't heal.

_Scars all over us both._

"_Roger_…"

"I don't want to, Mark."

"I'm not giving you a _fucking_ choice."

"Mark, I don't want to leave. I don't want to let…"

_You go._

"For now. Roger…I'm begging you just _go_. I can't handle this right now I can't listen to you tell me shit that you don't even know yourself."

"But Mark…"

"_Please._"

The rocker looked down, slowly let his fingers slide away from Mark's, and turned walking out the door.

Mark let out a shaky breath and swallowed hard against emotion.

_And I can't help but wonder…_

_Which of us do you love?_


	12. Forgive Me

_I didn't mean to hurt you_

**Forgive Me**

"Speak!"

"Pookie, we heard you were in the hospital! Why didn't anyone let _me_ know! We would've visited, every day, baby! What happened, pookie, Collins wasn't big on details. Are you all right? Call me soon, okay? Mwah, kisses!"

Click.

Roger sighed. What a nice way to be welcomed back into the loft with Maureen's loud voice reminding them about the hospital. Not that they needed to be reminded, it was anything but forgotten.

_Every night… every night I see him cold, beaten in the snow… every night I see the pain in his blue eyes…every night._

"Oh God, what am I going to tell her?"

Roger looked up, surprised that Mark had said something. Their conversations lately had been tense, uncomfortable, and rare. The filmmaker was leaning back on the couch, staring at…nothing.

The rocker gave a small smile from his seat on the window sill, "You don't have to call her back, y'know."

"Oh yes…I do. She'll hunt me down if I don't…and that's much worse."

Roger nodded.

_Much worse…_

And they fell into another one of their now customary, uncomfortable silences. The rocker leaned against the cool window pane, jaw clenched.

_Can't keep doing this. _

Mark stood and walked to the phone.

_I miss you too much._

The filmmaker's hand hovered over the phone for several minutes, debating on what to say, Roger knew, making a script of it all in his head. Mark shook his head, turned away.

"I guess…. I don't have to call her back right now. Maybe… maybe tomorrow."

"Yeah, uh…tomorrow… would be good."

Mark nodded, hand scratching the back of his head, and the rocker stood, because it was something to do. The filmmaker looked over at him, blue eyes meeting green for the first time since they'd gotten back.

So much pain between them both.

Echoing what they'd lost.

_No, not lost. No…please._

Blue eyes shifted away to stare at the floor.

_I can't lose you…_

His shaky breath filled the silent room with too much noise.

_Not like this. _

Mark walked towards his bedroom to escape, to find his camera and escape. Roger knew, but he wouldn't…_ couldn't_ let that happen. Not without saying… The rocker met him before he reached his room, grabbed on to his arm.

"Mark, I…"

The filmmaker sighed, closed his eyes, so Roger couldn't see anymore.

"Mark…"

All words had escaped him.

It was almost always in the moments that he needed them most that words left him high and dry, alone and vulnerable.

Words abandoned him…just like everyone and everything else.

"I know, Roger…" Mark said, pulling away from the rocker's hold, "I don't know why it's so hard for me…I just…can't…"

And the filmmaker was there for him once again when everything else in his life had abandoned him.

_It's why I don't need anyone but you…_

Mark walked into his bedroom before Roger could find words to comfort, to tell him to not feel bad because Roger deserved the tense conversations, Roger deserved to feel guilty, but not Mark. And yet…

_We both feel guilty...both of us. _

_Damnit. _

He ran a hand through his hair, and closed his eyes. He'd do anything to take it all back. All the hurt, the betrayal, the pain…

_Anything. _

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Mark so cold in his arms._

_He looked like death…like…_

_No. _

_Wake up, I need you!_

_Mark didn't move, didn't seem to breathe…_

_I need you. Don't leave me too, God…don't, don't leave me… please! Mark! _

_Mark!_

Roger woke with a start, hands shaking, breathing hard and heavy with worry. Another nightmare…

_God damn it, every night… the same._

He sat up, sweaty and hot, despite the freezing temperatures in the loft and held his head in his hands. He couldn't keep doing this. Nights filled with worry, days mulling over the friendship that was strained and pulled out thinly. Then he heard it, thrashing, yelling in the room next to him.

_Mark? _

In seconds he was up and inside his best friend's room. _Just another nightmare._ Mark was just having a nightmare, twisting around on his bed, mumbling something…

"Roger? No he wouldn't…he wouldn't do this to himself, to me…no…not again…"

Roger swallowed, looking away.

_Figures we'd both be having nightmares about each other…_

_Figures. _

"the kiss…It didn't mean… didn't mean anything. Just you…needing something, just…"

"Fuck." Roger cursed, and then covered his mouth.

_Didn't mean anything? _

Of course Mark hadn't believed him.

Roger shook his head, he really shouldn't be here, listening to Mark's deepest thoughts and worries, but it felt like… like he belonged here.

Like he was meant to be wherever Mark was.

Going against any logic in his head that screamed at him to turn away, Roger approached the bed and gently slipped under the covers next to Mark. His strong arms reached around the filmmaker, pulled the smaller man to him. On contact Mark seemed to relax, meld into the embrace so perfectly.

They fit.

_This just fits._

"I'm sorry" Roger whispered against the short blond hair, tightening his hold, "I'm so sorry, Mark. I wish you knew how sorry I am. I wish you knew what I'd do. I'd do anything…"

"Roger?"

_Shit._

_Fuck!_

_Think up a good excuse…_

_Anything! _

_Like what?_

_Sorry Mark I was sleepwalking and just fell into your bed. My arms have a mind of their own and can't be held responsible for the way they're holding on to you right now?_

_Damnit…_

"Roger?" Mark turned to look at him, but didn't pull out of the embrace, "What are you… doing?"

"You… were having a nightmare…and I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry… I'll go."

The rocker started to pull away.

"No…"

"What?"

"Don't… you don't have to go…"

"Really?"

Mark nodded, "Yeah…"

Roger pulled in closer again, and smiled as Mark's arms went around him. He let his breathing slow, and felt Mark match his breathing so that their chests moved together.

_In and out. _

_In and out._

His hand trailed along Mark's back, and his chin rested on Mark's hair.

"Mark…do you… do you ever think you'll forgive me?"

"…Yeah…" He let out a shaky breath, "I do… forgive you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean…we both did really stupid things…and I'm tired of it being like this between us like we lost everything."

"Me too. I…you…"

There went the words again…right out the fucking door.

Mark tightened his hold, "…I missed you too."

Roger smiled.

_Don't come back words, I don't need you._

_Just him._

He pulled the covers up around them, though he could hardly feel the cold in this embrace.

"Roger… I'm sorry."

"What? Why?"

The filmmaker shifted a little in his arms, "For running off, making you worry, all of that…"

Roger closed his eyes, "I deserved it."

"I'm sorry I said I would rather be out on the street…instead of with you."

His chest constricted a little, "No...It's…its okay."

And moments later, Mark was asleep in his arms, leaning into Roger's chest.

_This feels so right. _

_Why does this feel so right?_

Sleep started to take him, but his grip on Mark didn't lessen… Their chests still met together in steady, even breathing, their worries gone for now, using all their strength go hold on.

_I could stay like this forever._


	13. My Immortal

**Warning: **If any chapter should be rated M it should be this one, nothing explicit and nothing really "bad", but it's still the most sexual thing I've ever written. Aaaand I'm kinda nervous. "

Thank you everyone for all of your support… to the many of you have this story on your favs/alerts, and especially to those who take the time to tell me that they enjoy this story. I really appreciate it, and I thank you for reading on this story which is ending up much longer than I ever expected.

_So here we are once again, you and me, just you and me._

**My Immortal**

"Well this is…"

Mark pulled away from the still sleeping Roger's embrace and watched his best friend.

He had no words for what this was.

It was… wonderful.

It was right.

It was hard to believe.

It was…dangerous in so many ways.

He walked out of the bedroom and plopped down on the couch. He couldn't really believe it…any of it.

Mark had spent such a long time trying to convince himself that there was nothing there. Not from Roger's side at least and that any feelings he had would just have to be shoved down and hidden for the sake of everyone involved.

All of the kisses that they shared seemed so long ago, it was difficult to grasp that they really happened, that they really meant something to them both.

_God, I always do this. _

_Doubt everything…_

Roger stumbled out of the bedroom then, voice rough from sleep, "Uh, hey…"

"Morning."

"You want some cereal or something?'

"Nah."

The rocker stopped, looked at him, "Something…wrong?"

"No…"

As soon as he said it, though, he knew Roger wasn't going to believe him. The rocker sat next to him on the couch, leaned back with a sigh, a hand resting on his forehead.

_More awkward silence…_

"I thought we'd gotten through this… last night…" Roger grumbled.

Mark nodded, "Yeah. I know…."

_I make everything just a little too hard._

"You want to tell me what your nightmares were about?"

"No."

"No?"

_What the hell?_

_Yes. No. _

_Can't you take no for an answer? _

_Can't you ever listen to me?_

"Well?"

"I don't remember." Mark said, looking at the ground to hide the lie.

Roger shifted, sat up on the couch, "Don't lie, Mark… It never works with me, so what's the point?"

_It's another way of me telling you to leave it alone._

_It's another way of protecting you._

Roger sighed, "Mark..."

_Because I can't deal with this_

_And when you find out…you'll freak._

"Why do we keep doing this, Mark? Always getting into fights, because you won't tell me shit."

Mark looked up, blinked, "Is this a fight?"

The rocker folded his arms across his chest, "Do you want it to be?"

"What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean, Roger?" He asked, standing.

Always one to meet a challenge, to push back, Roger stood with him, against him.

"It just _means _that if I have to fight for you to be honest with me… If I have to fight to be able to be there for you, I fucking will! Okay?"

_Now…now it's a fight…_

"Yeah, Roger, yeah I get it." Mark said, voice low and leveled.

"Then _tell_ me."

_No…_

Mark stared at him, eyes hard.

_  
No, no, no…_

Cool blue on fiery green.

_No way am I giving into you. _

"I _said_…I don't remember. _Roger_."

The rocker's mouth fell open a little, visibly had to gather his emotions, his thoughts back together. Mark could see he was stuck somewhere between shock and anger.

"F-fine." Roger said behind clenched teeth, "Fine,_ Mark_. Why don't I remind you, huh?"

_What?_

Mark blinked, looked away.

"It was about me…Mark."

_He couldn't… _

"About you thinking I was using again, which is okay. I get that, Mark, I'm_ fine_ with that Mark…"

_No, no, no…_

"But it was also about the kissing."

Mark stepped backwards, turned away, "You li-… You _listened_ to me?"

"I didn't have any choice!" The rocker said, approaching him, "You were loud as hell! I thought… I thought you were hurt. I came in to check and you were muttering all that shit in your sleep-"

"I can't believe you _listened_ to me Roger."

"_I_ can't believe you still don't think those kisses were real! That that was _really _me! Damnit, Mark, what do you think last night was about? You think that was all some kind of act? You thought I was going through withdrawal then, huh?"

Mark looked back at the rocker, "You don't understand, Roger. You don't fucking get how much…how long… how hard it was to convince myself that it meant _nothing_ the first time!"

"So what the hell do you want me to do?" The rocker threw his hands up, "I can't deal with you doubting everything I do! I can't!"

"I'm not asking you to _do_ anything, Roger! I didn't even want to bring this up!"

Roger shook his head, "Well here it is! So you better fucking deal!"

_Yes._

_Here it is._

Mark stared at him.

Blue meets green in fire again… that underlying, unspoken desire that moved in the heated gaze they shared.

_Here…_

_  
Here it is…_

"I want you to know…" The rocker said, pulling Mark by the arm, turning him around so that their bodies were almost touching.

_Almost…not quite…almost._

"I want you to know…"

Roger's hot breath was on his face, on his neck, on all of him, pushing against him, pulling him in…in….

_In and out._

So hot… In the freezing loft, Roger breathing on him felt like fire, like ice, like fire, like ice, like fire…

_Like fucking fire…_

_In and out._

"I want you to know that this…" Roger leaned in and kissed him hard, lips melding together, hands tightly holding pale arms as he slowly pulled away, "is real."

_Oh God…_

"I want you to know…" The rocker pushed him into his bedroom, "…that everytime I do _this_…" pressed Mark against a wall with his hands, his body, "…it's real."

_Oh hell…_

"I _want_ you Mark." Roger's hand trailed down his side, near his pants.

_So hard to believe…_

"I want your hair…" He ran his other hand over Mark's blond head.

_Shit…shit…_

"I want your fucking glasses…" The rocker said, his voice rough, as he threw Mark's frames to the side.

_Oh…glasses…_

"I want your clothes…" Roger ripped Mark's shirt away, kissing his neck.

_Hot breath, hot mouth on neck…on…on…_

"I want your room…"

_Swallow back the desire._

"I want all of the blankets on your bed…"

_I can't resist you._

"I want the _fucking_ paint off the walls."

And the hot breath was in his ear, the two of them pressed against the wall, "I want _all _of you."

Mark gained his senses; pulled, pushed by desire he grabbed Roger's arms, pushed back.

"Take me." Mark gasped, breath caught in his chest, "_Take_ me."

Roger kissed him, pressed within his lips and down to his neck.

"Take me…Take _all_ of me…." The filmmaker's hands felt around the rocker's pants, struggled with the button.

Roger grabbed on to Mark's hands and fingers, pulled them apart, wrestled them away. The rocker stumbled from the wall, arms tense, hands shaking.

"_No_, Mark… No…" His voice was low, trembling, out of breath with the fire inside him.

_Your green eyes…_

_So much fear… and so much desire._

Mark slid down the wall, sweaty and shaking.

It was difficult to breathe.

_Oh God…_

_Don't breathe…_

_Don't fucking breathe._

"We can't do that…" Roger breathed. "We can't… I don't want…"

The rocker took slow step backwards.

Slow because each step took effort.

It physically took so much effort for him to walk away from someone he wanted so much…

Mark could see it written on his face, _Fuck this disease. _

"We can't…"

The filmmaker struggled to sit up, "Don't leave Roger."

"We _can't_."

"Don't leave."

He'd almost made it to the door. Mark pushed his legs against the wall, launched into a shaky jump, and tackled the rocker, his arms wrapping around the other man's legs, bringing both of them to the ground.

"Mark!" He shouted, "Mark what the hell… What the hell was that?"

"You can't leave. Not after that… You can't set me up like that…. And leave me hanging… Fuck Roger… You can't." He grabbed on to the rocker's hands and arms pulling himself across Roger, up close so his head rested on Roger's chest as he tried to control the rushed breathing that had taken over him.

"Mark…" Roger pulled him up the rest of the way so that their lips shared air, "Mark I don't want you to get sick."

"Damnit Roger, I'm not going to be the fucking girl!" He said, "I don't need you to protect me!"

The rocker sighed, closed green eyes, "Fine, Mark… then don't do it for _me_.Protect _me_."

And Mark heard what Roger didn't say in words, but in the shift of his body, the beating of his chest, the grip of his hands, _Because I couldn't live with that guilt. I couldn't live…I couldn't breathe… knowing I killed you._

"We could…get…protection…"

"I don't want to risk it." Roger whispered, "I don't want to risk you."

Mark sighed, leaned into Roger, "How do you do that… how are you able to get me so hot and then just walk away…"

"Well didn't really walk…" He said with a smile, "More like a forced stumble."

"Yeah, but still…"

"Because I'm a fucking sex god, remember? Now you'll finally believe me…"

_Yeah I will…_

"And… because…" Roger coughed, shifted, pulling Mark closer to him so his chin rested on the filmmaker's shoulder, "because I love you."

_I could never resist you._

"I… I love you, too." Mark's lips trailed on his neck, "But don't you ever say you want all of me if you're not going to take it."

"Oh but there are so many other ways to take you, Marky."

Mark crossed his leg over Roger's and pulled him closer, "Well mister sex god… show me the way."

"Okay…whatever happens _my_ pants stay on though." He kissed Mark's neck and chin.

"Mm…okay...fine…if they have too."

Roger smiled, "They do."

And Roger took Mark.

And it was wonderful.

And it was right.

_And heaven is you and me together tonight._


	14. Eternal

a/n: extremely sorry about how long this has taken me to get out, I've been beyond busy. All of you…I am so overwhelmed and thankful for all your reviews and support! I promise to update more regularly, I kind of just viewed that lag as the intermission. Last chapter ended Act 1. And with this chapter… we start Act 2 of Fallen.

_And you're my right and wrong_

**Eternal**

"Why is this so right?"

The words tumbled out of his mouth almost without him realizing. It wasn't a question that came out of nowhere; he'd been mulling it about in his head for a little while now.

_Why is this so right?_

The sun light crept in through the broken blinds of the window, sneaking into the room and threatening to force them out.

With another sunrise came another morning in Mark's embrace and… nothing had ever made so much sense. Not once had he questioned this new level to their relationship that he'd never imagined before.

_Why is this so right?_

Like a mantra.

The answer didn't really concern him, but he still wondered.

_Why is this so right?_

He'd been thinking it since he woke up…

So he didn't even realize that he'd said it aloud.

"Why is this so right?"

Mark gave some answer that was muffled by the pillow covering his head, trying to block out that damned sun.

A pillow can't keep the sun out forever.

A heart can't block what it feels forever.

Roger was in a weird mood.

Mark pulled the pillow away, squinted at the rays, "Aren't you going to ask what I said?"

"Huh?" Roger stared at him for a moment, "Oh… well it doesn't really matter."

Mark sat up and looked at him carefully or as carefully as he could look at a blur.

"No, not…" The rocker stood, picked up the glasses from the ground, and placed them on Mark's face. "The answer to the question doesn't really matter."

"Well then why'd you ask it?"

Roger shrugged, climbing back into bed, "Dunno. Just been thinkin it for a while…"

"Yeah…" Mark nodded, pulling his shirt on over his head.

"I mean this whole time, I never questioned it. I was kissing you and that whole time I never thought to wonder why. I never really thought of kissing you before cuz you were Mark, but I mean when I'm with you…" Roger pulled Mark to him, "it's just right."

Mark turned to look at him for a moment; Roger could see those blue eyes thinking. Finally the filmmaker nodded in understanding. Roger could hear it now. _'Oh you're in one of your weird moods.'_

Roger grabbed a pillow and hit Mark over the head with it, "Shut up!"

"Hey!" Mark hit him on the arm, "I didn't say anything!"

Roger grinned, throwing his arms around the smaller man, "You didn't need to."

The rocker pulled back so that they were against the headboard. The sun had nearly crept in all the way. Mark smiled and leaned his head back, kissing Roger's neck gently at first… and then harder. The rocker tightened his hold and breathed Mark in, his morning breath, his sweat, his hair, and that scent that was simply him…simply Mark and could be described no other way.

_God I don't deserve you. _

Mark's hand trailed Roger's arm, up and down. Somehow Mark always knew just what to touch and how…

_This is so right._

A knock on the door interrupted whatever moment they'd been having. Roger groaned as Mark pulled away from his arms and off the bed.

"Do we have to face the real world?"

Mark grinned, "We can't hide forever. I'm sure at least Collins is worried about us by now."

"It's only been a couple days since we got back… and who the hell _knocks_ on our door anyway?"

Mark shrugged and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. _There should be a rule that forbids people from facing their life when they're perfectly comfortable in bed. _He'd always strongly felt that there should be lot's of rules about staying in bed and generally doing nothing that would qualify as work. And that these particular rules should not be broken, no matter who comes knocking on the damn door.

The rocker grumbled under his breath about all these things as he stood and pulled a t-shirt on over plaid pants.

A short rap against the door and Mark's voice came from the other side, "Rodge…I think… I mean it's for you. The person at the door… was for you."

_What?_

Roger grabbed the cool handle warily.

_Who the hell?_

He pulled the door open and standing in the middle of the loft was the most beautiful girl in the world…

"Mi-…Mimi?"

Every time he saw her, she took his breath away.

"Hey Roger." She said, almost smiling as dark brown eyes shifted between the two boys.

_Shit Mark…_

The filmmaker stood to the side as though afraid to be too close to either of them. Roger swallowed, and Mimi shifted on her feet. Silence ensued and Roger wished morning had never come.

"I… hadn't seen you since you came by looking for Mark." She said, "I thought we could go for a bite to eat…if you want."

Roger took in a deep breath, "Mimi, I…"

She shrugged, "Calm down, Roger, I'm not asking you on a date or anything. Just because we're not together…doesn't mean we can't still be friends, right? I miss you."

The rocker looked over at Mark…not for permission, but to see how the filmmaker felt. As always, Mark was stone; his body entirely still in an effort to mask his own emotions. Those blue eyes held so many emotions, Roger could not get a handle on which was most strong.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking at the ground, and nodding at Mimi, "All right…"

"Okay, great." She smiled, "I'll meet you downstairs in ten minutes?"

"Yeah." Roger nodded, "Yeah fine."

"Uhm…bye Mark." She waved and headed out of the loft, shutting the door behind her.

"Bye…"

He'd said it too late.

"Mark…" Roger moved towards him, "You're okay with this right?"

"I don't own you Roger… you don't have to ask for permission."

The rocker grabbed him by the arm before he could escape to his room, "I'm not asking for your permission. I'm asking you how you feel about it."

"I don't know, Rodge…" Mark sighed and pulled away, "You're going to go eat with Mimi."

"Yeah… so?"

"So you're still in love with her!"

Roger pulled Mark into his arms again, "Mark, please… don't. Just trust me. I don't fuckin deserve it, I know, but trust I won't screw things up this time."

"Okay…okay." Mark leaned into the rocker, stretched his arms across his back and tried to measure his breathing.

Roger kissed Mark, let his hands slip down the filmmaker's sides and to the small of his back. Mark's hands lightly brushed Roger's collarbone and neck, just enough…

_just enough_

to make him shiver.

The rocker pulled away with annoyed sigh, "Guess I should get going."

"Yeah… you should." Mark smiled, scratching the back of his head shyly.

_And I live for smiles like that._

"You wanna come with? I'm sure Mimi won't mind."

Mark shook his head, "You two need some time alone… to settle shit out. I can handle being by myself for a little while…"

_But not forever._

Roger nodded, "I'll be back in a little bit."

"Yeah." He turned towards the couch.

"Mark…"

"I know…it's okay."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Half an hour later, Roger found himself at the Life Café sitting across from Mimi who was shaking from either nerves or withdraw. The red, agitated marks on her arms let him know that she hadn't stopped shooting up, but he tried to avoid looking at them. She curled a strand of her dark brown hair around her long finger, and attempted to smile.

_God she's like a fallen angel. _

_Shining, poised, beautiful, and so…lost. _

"So, what's up with Mark?"

"Huh?"

Mimi laughed at his reaction and tightened her hold on her coffee, "He was stand offish earlier. Is he just mad, because I broke up with you? He didn't seem the type."

"Didn't seem the type?" He took a sip of his coffee, and tried to focus on the way it felt in his mouth instead of trying to think of how he'd tell her…

"Well, yeah, I don't know. I guess of everyone, I'd expect him to understand."

_Understand?_

Mimi set her cup down, "You know, he just sees everything. He knows you best, I thought he'd know our relationship best and understand…" She took a sharp breath in, "understand why it's better this way."

_Understand?_

He hardly understood, but he wasn't about to let her know that.

_Fuck if I'll give into you, baby._

"Yeah…"

"Well?"

_Well…_

"Roger, what's going on? Is Mark mad?" Mimi scooted her chair closer to Roger's and pleaded to him with those dark brown eyes, "Please, just be real with me, huh?"

"Well…"

"Well?"

"After you broke up with me, Mark and I… well, we… Kind of…" Roger shifted in his seat and stared at his empty mug.

_How the hell do you tell of all people your ex-girlfriend? _

_What was there to say?_

"Mark and I, we kissed." …_to say the least._

Mimi's mouth fell open and a half gasping noise escaped. Her hands uselessly moved up and down in an effort to express her attempts to comprehend what he'd said.

"Oh. Oh my… shit." She twirled that strand hair faster between her fingers, "I mean… wow. I-I don't know what to say."

"…neither did we."

_Well that was only kind of a lie… just chose to kiss a whole fucking lot more instead of bother with words._

"Are you two… together now?"

"Uh…" He didn't even know. "I really… we… I guess we are, but we haven't really talked about it."

"Oh." Mimi swallowed and ran her tongue across the front of her teeth, which she only when she was nervous.

Roger knew.

She'd once told him that he was the only person to ever notice how she ran her tongue across her teeth the rare times that nerves got the best of her. Or at least he was the only person to ask her about it, she didn't know she did it until him.

_Just one more thing…_

_One more thing that makes me think of us._

"Kind of soon after we broke up don't you think?" There was a crack, a strain in her voice from hurt or anger or both.

Roger sighed and leaned back in his seat, "Mimi."

"I mean for our relationship meaning so much to you," Her hand gripped her mug so tightly, the muscles in her arm strained, "You sure as hell moved on fast."

The exasperation he felt pushed him to anger and his fists slammed down on the table before he could think, "God damnit, Mimi, _you_ broke up with _me_!"

A tense silence filled the Life Café as other patrons looked over at their table. His fists were still clenched and tense against the table top. Mimi sighed, reaching her thin arm over to hold tight to his fist.

"Roger… I'm sorry, okay." Those brown eyes looked into his green, willing him to calm down, "Look it's just hard to take at first y'know? I mean I'm still in love with you… and I just didn't expect…so soon."

"I know…I know." He relaxed a little and folded his arms, "I'm still in love with you too…"

"But?"

_But… _

_But…_

"Mimi is it really possible to be so completely in love with two different people? To love them both with all that you are?" Roger sighed, "Look it's like you said we don't work together, we fit half the time and clash the other half. We're too a like. But with Mark… it all just fits y'know… and I don't have time to fuck around, waiting for love and pain to go away or I'll never live. You taught me that."

Mimi smiled sadly, nodded, "Taught you better than I realized… I get it, Roger. I do."

They finished the rest of their time together in drawn out silence. Mimi sipped the rest of her coffee down slowly, and Roger stared at the table, trying to forget how beautiful she was. How the very way she sipped coffee used to send a kind of thrill through his body.

But now there was Mark, who sent more than a thrill through him and did more than set him into a passionate fire. There was Mark who had always been there. There was Mark who fit.

There was Mark.

And Mark was right.

They hugged goodbye and she felt too thin in his arms.

"Mimi…" Roger held her arms, "Mimi… we can still be friends right?"

_You know I'd miss you too much…_

"Ye-yeah, Roger, sure."

But there was something in her voice as she turned away and left him standing on the street.

And he felt it too.

It was hard enough being friends with your ex when you're both still in love with each other…

But it's even harder to be friends with your ex when they're in love with someone else too.

_God…_

And even though he could only think of her as he watched her turn away, for once it didn't hurt so much.

Because he had Mark.

Because it was so right.

_Because I have you._


	15. Imaginary

_So I lie inside your arms…_

**Imaginary**

"Speak!"

"Yo, Mark, Roger! I gave you two plenty of time to sleep so someone better be up and throwin a damn key down here."

Mark reached over and answered the phone with a smirk, "Hey Collins. Yeah. Just a second."

He walked out onto the fire escape, looking down to see his friend standing on the sidewalk below. Mark tossed down the key with a wave. As he did since that Christmas Eve, Mark stayed to make sure Collins actually got the key and made it inside safely.

As he waited for his friend to come up the stairs to the loft, his mind wandered to Roger. Of course, that's who his mind always wandered to.

Instinctively.

_Only him…_

Mark trusted Roger. He did, but it didn't make it any easier to know that he was out with Mimi.

What would Roger tell her?

If anything.

_One fucked up love triangle we've got here…_

His thoughts were interrupted by the loft door sliding open. Collins walked in, bag, which undoubtedly contained stoli, in hand, and smiled.

"Hey, Mark." He sat the bag on the ground, and took the filmmaker in a tight hug, "Where's the other bitch at?"

"Out with Mimi." Mark hoped his smile didn't look too false.

Collins pulled away from him, "Wait, _out_ out or just out?"

"What? I don't know. Out to eat?" He retreated to the couch before more questions could be asked.

Collins followed, sat next to him.

_Nice…_

_Sitting on the couch is always the perfect hiding place._

_  
Way to choose._

"You know what I mean Mark."

"She asked him just as a friend…"

"But…"

"But he still loves her…"

"And…"

"And she still loves him."

Collins nodded, "Uh huh. So you're worried-"

"That he'll get hurt again. Yes." He insisted, even though it was more than that.

And Collins _knew_. Mark could see it in those dark, warm, understanding eyes. He _knew._

"You're worried that his love for her will make him forget you, long enough for something to happen?"

"Well, I… yes, but how-"

"Roger told me about you two." He said with a small smile.

_What?_

_Roger did wha-_

"So he didn't tell you about that?"

Mark shook his head.

"Figures." Collins shook his head with a laugh, "Y'know for as close as you two are… you occasionally have the worst communication skills when it comes to basic shit…like what you did that day or who you told about the amazing kiss you two shared."

…

_Can't argue with that._

"It was a few days ago, right after you two kissed and the day before we had to rush you off to the hospital." He paused a moment, thinking over what he said, "Shit a lot has happened to you two in a helluva short time. Reminds me of that Christmas Eve…everything happened in a fuckin day."

"Yeah, it's been hard to keep up with it all." Mark admitted.

…_that's the biggest understatement in the world._

"So I had just gotten back. The minute I got into the city, I headed straight to Ang's grave like I always do and as I'm coming up the hill… there's Roger standing by her headstone."

…

_Huh?_

"Roger?" Mark's breath caught in his throat, before he continued, "_Roger_ was there? He hasn't been back there since…"

Collins nodded, "Imagine my surprise."

_Must've been looking for advice._

_Count on Roger to only ask for advice from people who can't answer him back._

"So we went out to get a drink, and he told me what had happened. Said he didn't know what to do. I told him to figure out if he loved you or not, and then move on from there."

_He did a lot more than move on from that._

"Later, he called me, told me you were missing. And well, you know the story from that point on."

Mark nodded.

"But I, however, have been left in the dark…and quite unfairly I might add." Collins finished, with a small grin as he put an arm around Mark, "So, talk to me."

"Well, I don't-"

"Come on, Roger had to talk." He insisted, strengthening his grip on Mark's shoulder, "You really thought _you _could get out of it?"

_Was hoping to…_

Collins was giving him that look. That look that said Mark, my boy, you know you need to get this shit out. Mark hated that look… mostly, because it was always right.

Was Collins ever wrong about anything?

"Well, I… I don't really know what to say." He admitted finally, folding his hands in his lap, "We've been sleeping in bed together every night…"

'That look' on Collins' face transformed instantly.

That look turned into a look of 'Hmm? What? Did I hear this right? Are you two being sa-'

"Not like that." Mark said quickly, "I wanted it to be like that, but… we're just sleeping together, I mean regular sleeping. Like snoring and holding each other and no thrusting action or er… damnit. Y'know sleep, normal sleep that everyone gets every night just with each other, in each other's arms."

He was positive he'd turned a dark shade of red. Collins laughed and shook him gently from his ramblings.

"S'okay, Mark, I get it." He said, grinning, "The idea sure as hell gets you excited though doesn't it?"

Mark let out a groan. "Collins…"

"I'm just playin wit you boy." He laughed again. "So just the sleeping?"

"And the kissing."

"Oh?"

_Damn, that curiosity of Collins', trying so hard to sound innocent, but failing completely. _

"The kissing, the holding, the groping, the… yeah… Why the hell am I telling you this?" Mark sighed and stumbled over his next words, "The point is we've done…stuff. Things. Together that would indicate our relationship is more than just best friends…"

"No shit."

Mark shot him a tired look.

"Sorry, sorry…" Collins smiled and let go of Mark's shoulders, "So if he's been doing all this with you lately, what does that make you two? Are you… together?"

"We haven't talked about it."

He threw his hands up in mock exasperation, "Again with the lack of communication, you two really need to work on that."

"I know… stupid. And now he's with Mimi and…"

_I can't help but be afraid…_

_I'm going to lose him._

"And you're worried something will happen?"

Mark nodded, looking down, "I mean… who would choose the skinny, white, spaztic dork over the sexy, sweet Cat Scratch dancer?"

"Mark…"

And there was Collins' arm around him again in a tight, reassuring kind of comfort that only he could provide.

_God, I don't know what I'll do if…_

_If he comes back and he's with her._

_And I'm alone again_

_  
hiding behind a fake smile_

_acting like I'm happy for him_

_as I'm dying inside…_

"Mark, you're jumping to conclusions." Collins said firmly, all traces of the humor normally present in his voice gone and replaced with this captivating strength and wisdom, "Mimi asked him out as a friend. Maybe she doesn't want him back; she broke up with him even though she still loved him. Maybe their relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend is truly over."

The filmmaker glanced up, afraid of how pitiful he must look. He hated looking pitiful. It was bad enough to feel that way, but to let it bubble up on the surface where anyone could see.

_Get a grip._

_  
Get a fucking grip for once in your life._

"And you're really not giving yourself enough credit." Collins continued, bringing Mark closer to him. "Mark, you're worth a lot more to him than you realize, he _needs_ you. Course it's the same with him, he has no idea how much you need him. You're both so oblivious to the strength of your relationship. There aren't words to describe the connection you two share. It's something that can't be labeled. That connection will be fighting against Mimi if she wants to get back with him. Have faith in that connection."

_Have faith in him._

Mark let out the breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. He was in shock. His relationship with Roger was one of the few things in his life he never overanalyzed. It was what it was. He worried over losing it, worried over Roger, worried about what happened when it was all over…but he never analyzed that connection…

_Collins is right…there aren't words._

_Fuck if I'll give into worry._

"Collins," The name came out shakily from his lips as he grasped for something to express how grateful he was, "I- Thank you… Shit, we don't deserve you."

_Second biggest understatement of the day. _

Collins grinned and winked, "S'right, just you two remember that."

"We won't."

"Well, Mark my boy. I'm going to let you go." With that, Collins stood, "Roger will be home soon, and you two will want your alone time."

"You don't have to Tom." He insisted, standing as well. "You could stay, have dinner with us."

Collins shook his head and there was something sad in his eyes that couldn't be placed at first, "Thanks for the offer, but really have to be off."

i He's missing Angel.

Of course.

God I don't know how I'll be able to go on once Roger… /i 

Mark wrapped his thin arms around Collins, hugged him tightly.

"We're here for you too…" He said softly, unsure of himself, "We all miss her, but it has to be so much worse for you…"

Collins pulled away, and looked down unable for the first time this afternoon to formulate words.

That's how Mark knew.

_It's killing you…without her here._

_It's not HIV that's killing you._

_It's being without her._

He watched Collins walk out, and was immediately filled with an unexplainable dread.

_Nothing's ever easy, is it?_

_nothing._

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Roger walked into the loft later and collapsed on the couch next to him, Mark didn't ask questions.

He stayed quiet and watched.

The rocker had his head in his hands, breathing heavily. Nothing about him indicated how the visit had gone…

Good or bad.

Mimi or Mark.

But still he didn't ask questions.

He watched the rocker struggle within himself.

Roger needed something, someone.

According to Collins, Roger needed Mark.

He reached out tentatively with his pale arm, fingers hovering just above the rocker's jeans.

Waiting…

_Waiting till you're ready..._

Roger lifted his head then and saw Mark's tentative hand.

Mark held his breath.

_This was it._

_Don't fucking breathe._

And then…

_Oh God. _

And then…

Roger's strong hand, took Mark's, fingers fell between fingers, grip tightened.

_It fit. _

Roger leaned back into Mark, head falling onto his shoulder with a shudder. Mark's pale, thin arm went around Roger's waist, and tightened, trailing up and down.

_Was so fucking afraid…_

_But this is all I need._


	16. Before the Dawn

a/n: what? Fluff! It feels so weird in this story… don't worry, it won't last long. :-p

_Somehow I know we can't wake from this dream_

**Before the Dawn**

"She looked so heartbroken, Mark. You should've seen her…"

It had been a week since Roger met with Mimi and Mark had thankfully not asked anything about what happened. But as they were sitting there, one with his guitar and the other with his camera… Roger couldn't stop thinking about it, felt he had to share.

Mark looked up from his camera, surprise evident in his eyes, "What did you… tell her?"

_Nothing, everything… I don't know._

"Told her about us."

"…oh."

A pause.

Mark went back to his camera and Roger let out a small sigh, as he set his guitar down.

When the guitar came down…it was time to talk.

They both knew that.

"What did you tell her about us?" Mark asked suddenly.

The filmmaker had set his camera down on the table and was walking over to Roger, blue eyes attentive. Roger swallowed, glanced down almost nervous.

_Well you wanted to talk… _

_So start saying shit._

Roger frowned, "Well… I said that we had kissed and…everything."

"You did?"

"Yeah…"

_What else was I supposed to do?_

"She asked why you were acting so weird around her."

Mark groaned, "It was that obvious?"

Roger nodded, with a smile, and reached out grabbing Mark's hand, pulling him onto the couch. His once muscular arms wrapped around Mark, tightening across his middle.

_This is where I want to be._

He felt Mark breathe against him and sighed.

_Where I need to be._

"Mark… what are we?"

"Uh… human?"

_Guh…_

"Okay smart ass. I meant me and you. Us. Are we…"

_Boyfriends?_

Mark shrugged, "I don't know. It feels weird to call you my boyfriend."

"It…it does?"

_We've made out, held each other, confessed to being in love, slept with each other every night (not like that… sadly)… _

_And now he mentions weird?_

_What the fuck?_

_Is this weird too?_

Roger loosened his grip and started to pull away.

"Well not because… I didn't mean…" Mark sighed, took Roger's hands in his own and wrapped them back tightly around his body, "It's just 'boyfriend'… it seems so meaningless. It doesn't even begin to describe how I feel about you."

_Ooooh…_

Roger leaned in and kissed his neck, "Marky… that was sweet."

"Shut up!" He protested with another sigh, "I feel like such a fuckin girl."

"Yeah me too… I blame you entirely." Roger smiled and leaned back, Mark still in his arms, leaning against his chest, "Labels are fucking overrated. I just didn't know what to tell Mimi…"

"Tell her that we're…together? Seems like the best way to say it." Mark paused, "I mean… that is if you even want us to be together…"

Roger had to stifle a laugh.

_Sometimes you amaze me._

"Mark, I'm sitting here with you in my arms, kissing your neck. You really think I'd do that if I didn't want to be with you?"

"No…guess not."

They fell into a comfortable silence…

Roger kissing Mark's neck slowly, whenever the mood hit him…which was very often,

Mark running his fingers gently across Roger's arm.

_Let's stop everything here._

_Right here._

_Fuckin perfection._

"She was really heartbroken?" Mark asked turning in Roger's hold so that blue met green, "Must've been hard."

Roger nodded, "I don't know… why. I mean _she_ broke up with _me_, y'know? I don't know what she wants from me."

"She's still in love with you." He said quietly, "It's really hard to know the person you're in love with is with someone else."

"Yeah…"

_It is…_

_And you'd know wouldn't you?_

_How long have you been in love with me, Mark?_

_How long did I ignore that look in your eyes, the one I'd seen in Mimi's… caught between happiness for me and self hatred, jealousy._

_How many times did I not see how you were breaking inside?_

_How many times did I look right through it?_

_And Mimi's broken eyes are still here…can't get them out of my head._

_Can't get you out of my head._

_I can't…_

"D'you think it's possible to be in love with two people... at the same time?"

Mark stiffened in his hold.

_No_

_No, no, no…_

"Yes." Mark said at last and Roger could sense how difficult it was for him to say it, to admit what he truly felt…afraid of what it would mean, "It's possible."

Roger nodded, took in a deep breath.

There was no other explanation for his feelings for Mark and Mimi. So different, but both were clearly love.

"And you know that I… I'm choosing to be with you. Even if she'd wanted me back, I'd still be with you right now. I'm in love with you Mark, and you're all I want for the rest of my…"

_Life._

He was going to say it…but then…

But then… the rest of his life wasn't very long.

And so he couldn't say it.

Mark was silent. Their breathing matched so evenly that Roger felt pressure against his chest and his hands at the same time.

Then the filmmaker leaned his head back, kissed Roger on the neck, and smiled despite the awkward silence, "Aw, Rodge… that was sweet!"

"Shut up." Roger shook his head. "We are such fucking girls. I still blame you."

He smiled and shrugged, "There are worse things I could be blamed for."

Roger pulled Mark with him and leaned back on the couch. He kissed Mark's neck again, from his chin, down to his shoulders. Mark's hand trailed along Roger's hand and even that was enough…

Enough to set fire through him,

To take over him,

_Burn everything else away._

He sighed, closing his eyes and resting his chin on Mark's shoulder. Sometimes he couldn't help but think of Mimi, even now.

_Those broken eyes._

_God it hurt to remember them._

Reminded him too much of Mark's eyes, before they were together.

Why hadn't he seen it sooner?

"I love you."

"Mm…love you too."

_Maybe tonight we'll fly. _


	17. Hello

a/n: sorry for the delay again…finals, moving out, etc. . Next chapter will be out in the next couple days I'm almost done with it.

_I'm still here, all that's left of yesterday._

**Hello**

"Speak!"

_Click._

"Hey… pookie. I'm sorry I freaked out last week. It's just Roger and you… together? What the fuck? And why did it take you two so long to tell me? We're supposed to be friends, but you two do an awfully damn good job of keeping us out and I- Ow! _Joanne!_ Okay, fine. Mark, I'm sorry. Just stop keeping stuff from me, okay? And it'll take me a little while to get used to you and him together, call me in a couple weeks. We'll get together, huh? I miss you. Okay...well bye!"

Mark shook his head from the table, rolling his eyes as he remembered the incident at the Life Café when Roger and Mark had told Joanne and Maureen. Bowls of soup had gone flying, tears had been shed, words had been exchanged.

_You'd think she still loves me and I was breaking up with her for a guy._

He sighed.

_But that's Maureen for you._

Mark hadn't expected her to call and apologize so soon, but today felt weird enough as is.

There was a dread that filled Mark.

He kept thinking about how they hadn't seen any of their friends lately. Collins and Mimi especially worried him. The last time he'd seen Collins, Mark could see the sadness in him, the despair at being alive without Angel. And Mimi… well, he understood Mimi's heartbreak from the way Roger's eyes glazed over when he talked about the day he told her the truth.

Unfortunately, try as he might, he could not ignore the dread by sitting on the table with a camera in his hands. He glanced towards the bathroom where Roger was taking a shower.

That in itself was too tempting.

_Too damn tempting._

But Roger would kill him. The rocker was very insistent on them being beyond careful. No matter how much he wanted Mark, Roger kept his pants on, kept the strongest barrier he could between Mark and disease.

The door to the bathroom clicked open revealing Roger with a towel over his bare shoulders, torn jeans on…

_Wait... jeans on?_

Jeans meant fair game.

If anything could keep the dread from consuming him… it was a shirtless Roger.

Mark leapt to the floor, camera on the table as he slowly and quietly approached the unaware r-

"Y'know you look like an animal going in to kill for a meal."

Mark looked up at Roger's smiling face and scowled, "That was kind of what I was going for…."

"You want to kill me?"

Mark smirked, shook his head unnecessarily.

"Oh, so you want to make meal of me?"

"Yeah, you're lookin tasty all shirtless and wet. So I'm going to eat you."

Roger grinned and started towards him, "Not if I eat you first!"

Mark wrapped his arms around the rocker's neck as he approached, attacking Roger with his lips, nibbling on his ear, kissing his neck and chin and lips… harder and harder. There was never enough.

_Fire_

_On fire…_

Roger pulled his hands across Mark's back, fingering the bottom of his shirt and ripping it up off the filmmaker. He went in for Mark's collarbone, kissing it softly at first then harder and harder. His hands rubbed all over Mark's back and sides, feeling every bone, every muscle, every rise and fall of the chest.

_Oh God…_

_Oh Jesus…_

_This is…_

_This is…_

Mark's hands went to Roger's shoulders and suddenly he was pushing, smashing their bodies together.

_I want you._

Mark pushed Roger against the couch, kissing, nibbling hard at the spot where his neck and shoulder met.

_Make me so fuckin hungry._

_Red, red… heat._

Roger's back arched and he growled, nearly biting along Mark's chest and collarbone and neck. Mark's fingernails dug into Roger's back as his lips interlocked with Roger's.

_Mm… sweet._

_More…_

But there would never be enough.

And Mark was sure his fingernails were creating scratches in Roger's poor back, but he couldn't bring himself to care as they shared a kiss he couldn't break away from even as his lungs began to burn. Not enough oxygen could get through his nose to suffice for the amount of activity they were doing.

His lungs cried for breath.

_Need air!_

Mark felt Roger's tongue trail on the roof of his mouth.

_Need you more._

Finally, they broke away together, gasping for breath. Roger slipped his fingers through Mark's belt loops, pulling him closer, his hands traveling to the button.

_God, yes._

_I need to be in you now._

And then the phone rings.

"Shit!" Roger cursed.

He released Mark's pants, flipping Mark gently on to the couch, and going over to the answering machine, fully intent on destroying the machine or maybe ripping out the phone chord in angry desperation.

Something about the ringing of the phone set Mark back to his dread. His stomach seemed to drop to the bottom of the floor. And although he didn't realize it at the time, he started to shake.

_We screen._

"Speak!"

_Click._

"Mark? Roger?"

The voice on the other end was strained, serious, tired.

It stopped Roger mid-swing.

"If you're home you… you really need to answer the phone."

Mark heard Roger pick it up.

"Yeah?"

And then a muffled voice on the other line Mark couldn't understand.

_I don't understand._

Roger kept making mumbles, hisses of sharp breathing as though his hand had been forced into a fire.

"…okay."

Mark heard the phone click back in place.

_It ends here._

_Something ends here._

Roger mumbled a lot of words Mark couldn't understand.

All he heard was 'hospital'.

Hospital?

_Don't breathe._

Hospital.

_Don't ask._

And Roger had his hands running through his hair, fist slammed into the table. Mark was at his side in a moment, pushing back his own worry and fear, as he put a hand on Roger's arm.

Roger didn't even look at him.

Hospital.

_Don't think. _

_Don't guess._

_Don't wonder._

They headed out to the hospital after dressing in silence.

Roger's head down.

Mark still shaking.

_Don't fucking breathe._


	18. My Last Breath

A/n: This chapter is different than any other chapter in this story, if you've been keeping track it's Roger's time for italics, but instead we're taking a break from regular narrative. First person point of view of three people. It should be fairly easy to figure out who is who. Thanks everyone for your reviews! Next chapter should be up soon.

**My Last Breath**

I can't breathe.

If I breathe normally, then I will have to think. I will have to understand what's happening and deal with that and I can't.

If I just let myself breathe, I'll look at Roger and see that look in his eyes like the world's crumbling around him. I'll see that look in his green eyes and instead of being able to comfort him, I'll break.

I can't break.

If I break then there's no going back. I will have to deal with this, instead of staring at the white walls without tears in my eyes as I wait for something to happen and hope that it never does.

If I just let myself break, I'll leave Roger with nothing and no one to hold on to. I'll see him turn almost dead before my eyes and then I will die or I'll wish I was dead.

I can't die.

If I die then I'll be forced to watch the person I love more than life, itself, suffer alone. It's a fate I would never wish on anyone, but it's a fate that I must one day bare.

If I just let myself die, I'll see the torture that Roger goes through. He doesn't deserve it, he's suffered for so long, through so much. I can still hear April say from the last day I saw her, "Take care of him, Mark."

I can't hear.

If I hear what's going on around me, I'll have no hope left to cling to. I'll listen to them confirm the dread in my stomach that this is the end of something.

Maybe the end of everything.

If I hear I'll listen to Roger's barely contained grief being expressed in angered moans, wails, and tears.

And I'll feel guilty.

Because this is all my fault.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't want to hear what they're saying.

I don't want to look at Mark with his frozen face, unable to express feeling as always. Somehow it hurts more this time to see him so frozen, staring at a wall like nothing has happened, like he's not even fucking paying attention.

My chest might explode.

Benny said on the phone that there was no hope. We were basically dealing with a dead body at this point, but I couldn't handle that.

Benny's an ass hole.

Benny said we were golden before and then tried to evict us for not paying.

Benny's lied before.

Why not now?

Why not this time?

I want to scream.

Why couldn't you have lied this time? Lied about this? And then we'd come to the hospital and you'd both be laughing in my face. Mark would let out a sigh of relief and I'd kick Benny's ass.

Everything could go back to being normal.

So I'm slamming my fists against the wall, waiting till they'll let me go in and say goodbye.

Say goodbye?

Say goodbye to a corpse?

To the corpse of the-

It's a wonder Mark hasn't stopped me. My fists are red and torn. He's still staring at the wall with that blank expression on his face.

Most people would guess he's in shock, but he's not. He knew it before I did. Mark's just detaching as always.

I won't be able to handle this. I wish I would go into shock. I wish I could detach like Mark, but I can't. I'll feel this so strongly it'll overwhelm me. I won't have any control over anything. I'm barely in control now.

My hands are shaking and the tears are already falling.

I feel so fucking weak, but Jesus, girl you break me. You always could. You always will.

My beautiful dancer.

Mark has enough sense now to grab my hand before I break it throwing it into the wall so hard.

My beautiful dead dancer.

This is all my fault.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'd like to say he has nothing to do with this, but in a way he does. In a way that I don't like to admit. No one should have this strong of an effect on me. But I can't get him out of my head as I sit on the bathroom floor, clutching a needle in my hand.

It's more than him.

Much more.

It's heroin. It's always been heroin. It always will be heroin and I can't handle that anymore.

I can't handle living for a drug or for a man.

When did I stop living for myself?

I sold my soul to this drug a long time ago. So now I sit here with as much heroin as I could buy in a bag and a needle in my hand and my God I made so many fucking mistakes…

This could kill me.

It probably will.

Maybe I want it to

… I don't know anymore.

I need heroin more than I need to sleep, more than I need to eat, more than I need to breathe… and no more.

No fucking more, I can't do this, I can't, I can't let this, I can't even-

I hate crying.

I'm not a baby.

I'm not a weak person who can't handle shit…

but here I am crying on the floor about the needle in my hand, sweating and shaking because I haven't had a hit since this morning.

No more.

_No_ more.

I think about him for a moment. This will not be good for him, he'll blame himself, he'll breakdown maybe. It's too human, too selfish, but a part of me wants him too. I just want someone to remember me, to feel like me not being here anymore means something to someone…

Mostly I wish no one would ever find me. I wish they'd forget. So that this means nothing to no one, but me.

I imagine there's a freedom that comes with this. I'm not sure how I'm still thinking, my brain and veins are throbbing with _heroin heroin heroin heroin heroin… _

I can do_ this_.

_This_ is not hard.

I imagine being free

I slide the needle into my vein

And I swear I can see Angel's face.

All my fault.


	19. Whisper

_Forsaking all I've fallen for I rise to meet the end._

**Whisper**

Roger walked into the hospital room, staring at the bed on the far wall with wide eyes, pulse beating quickly in his veins.

_Mimi…_

_**Dead **Mimi_

Mark had offered to come in with him and he was starting to regret telling the filmmaker no… but he needed this time to say goodbye.

Needed this time to say… to say… _anything._

But right now his feet were frozen to the ground as he stared at the bed and at the tiny figure lying in it.

She looked so peaceful, eyes closed. He'd seen that expression on her so many times before when she was sleeping…

_Just sleeping._

_She's just sleeping._

He'd wake up and watch her breathe and look so peaceful, for once the need for heroin wasn't there nor the pain of their latest fight, just this… peaceful… look.

And she looked like she was sleeping like that now.

He supposed he should be at least grateful for that, glad that she wasn't in pain any longer, but he was selfish and right now… it didn't matter.

Roger missed her.

Missed her life, her spark, her energy…

_God…_

_This is all my fault._

Taking in a deep breath, Roger finally took a step or two towards her, his hands were shaking and sweating, but he didn't notice.

_Here it comes._

He was going to be sick, his stomach twisted horribly inside of him.

This was more than he could handle.

Roger moved to sit on the edge of her bed, right next to her head, green eyes staring down at her.

This wasn't right.

His eyes began to burn with tears that he refused to let fall and he felt compelled to hold her in his arms, because she _had_ to still be in there.

This wasn't fair.

She _had_ to just wake up the moment he held her in his arms, wake up and hit his arm, and tell him what an idiot he was to believe that she could really be gone.

_She's not… really…_

Everything had been so perfect, so right for a change, and then in moments it all came crashing down around him again.

_Fuck._

It was like life was laughing in his face.

_You really thought you could get away with happiness?_

He didn't deserve it.

_You really thought that you could handle this?_

He had been a fool to believe that he deserved anything at all.

_You really thought-_

Roger leaned down and his arms wrapped gently around her thin frame. For several moments, he was frozen in this position. He kissed her on the forehead, soft lips meeting cold, _cold_ skin and he shuddered.

_This isn't right._

He started to lift her into his arms, to hold her one last time, to say goodbye. But she felt so empty and heavy at the same time in his hold and suddenly that sick feeling, that shudder took over his whole body.

This wasn't Mimi.

This was a dead body.

This was a _corpse_.

And with a thud, he dropped her… it… _her _ roughly, stumbled backwards from the bed, shaking, and pressing his back up against the pure, white hospital wall.

There was _no_ facing this.

Not for Roger.

_Not _now.

He didn't realize it, but he was crying.

He didn't realize it, but the door had opened.

He didn't realize it, but Mark's hand was on his arm.

All he could see was…

_Don't turn away._

Mimi's… the dead body… Mimi's head… had tilted on the hospital bed…

_Don't give into the pain._

And she was staring at him.

_Don't try to hide._

Staring at him behind closed eyes.

_God knows what lies behind them._

"I have to go."

And he half expected to hear his name called as he turned and walked away, but there was only a thick, raw silence.

_This is **your** fault._

He felt Mark's concerned eyes watch him leave the hospital room… because of course, Mark could let himself feel as long as he was feeling for someone else.

And he wanted to destroy something, but he couldn't stop shaking as he stormed down the hall way.

And all he saw was…was her… her-

_Your eyes…_

_When we said our goodbyes…_

Roger was half way down the street when his breath finally caught in his throat and he choked on sobs that he couldn't detach from.

_I can stop the pain if I will it all away._

He didn't know where to turn, where he was even going…

_This truth drives me into madness._

_And I find I can't hide._


	20. Ascension of the Spirit

_Now I lay me down to sleep_

Ascension of the Spirit

There was something about funerals that helped Mark detach.

Maybe it was the organization of every moment, the collective, respectful quietness of those watching, or the speeches given that so often felt scripted and straight from a movie.

At Angel's funeral when Collins spoke it was the first time a funeral really got to Mark in a way that he could barely detach from. He had felt his heart breaking, compelled to stand with his friend as Collins poured out word upon word through his pain and tears.

So he should've expected Mimi's funeral to be different as well…

He should've expected it… but he didn't…

_Didn't expect enough._

It started normally enough… for a funeral.

Roger sat next to him, tense and shaking a little, staring down at the floor.

The cast list was a preacher, Mimi's mother and sister, Collins, Maureen, Joanne, Benny, and a few friends from life support meetings and the Cat Scratch Club.

A generic cast list.

The dialogue was set. Words were said with all the feeling in the world, but it just didn't register with Mark.

Neither he nor Roger stood to speak.

Maybe they should have.

Maybe one of them should've stood and said, _sorry, Mimi, sorry for breaking your heart._

Maybe Roger should've said the truth… that he still loved her.

Maybe Mark should've said the truth… that he wished he'd been a better friend to her.

Maybe they both should've said the truth that they were afraid and so lost right now that for once, they couldn't even find each other.

Joanne had her arms around Maureen and the diva was running her hand gently through the lawyer's hair, both of them staring at the open casket in the front of the church with tears running down their faces.

Benny sat off by himself in the last pew to the far left staring at his hands. There was a time when Mark might've been able to script what was going through his head as he sat there… but that time had long since passed.

Mimi's mom and sister were clinging desperately to each other, speaking quick words in Spanish that no one else understood.

The preacher said a few generic words, talking about the sadness of one dying so young, of having her life cut short.

Everything was going according to script.

Mark reached out to touch Roger's hand, but the rocker pulled away.

Yes, everything was going according to script…

Until…

_Until…_

A male voice broke into sobs. And Mark had been watching his pale hands twist around each other in his lap so he didn't know who had made the sound, but he hoped that it was Roger.

Roger _needed_ to break down, to let himself feel. For some reason Roger'd been struggling to hold it all in… taking lessons from Mark maybe or maybe he was afraid of dealing with it, maybe he was trying to run away from his own emotions.

So when the male voice broke into sobs, Mark hoped it was Roger, but knew that it wasn't. The sobs were too low and Roger tensed next to him at the sound so he couldn't… have…

_But who?_

Mark was afraid to look up from his hands, but he finally did when he sensed Roger standing next to him. Roger wasn't looking at anything, but there was something in those green eyes. A fear, a guilt, a need… to… to run…

_No, no, no._

And then blue eyes immediately tore from the rocker to the source of the sobs.

Collins was leaning over the casket, barely able to stand from the sobbing that overwhelmed his weakened body.

Mark had only seen that man break down once before… at Angel's funeral and that was _nothing _like this.

At Angel's funeral it was a quiet kind of breakdown, like Collins was trying to be strong for all of them, for himself, and mostly for Angel. Like he'd already broken down on his own and this was just the remainder of his heart being shown for the world to see so they knew how much he loved his Angel.

This was different.

And Roger was turning… turning and walking away.

Mark stood, script suddenly forgotten, church, funeral, other people forgotten… as he turned towards the man he loved.

"Roger-"

And the rocker stopped walking.

For a moment, Mark thought he had broken through, thought his words, the pain in his voice had meant enough to Roger to get him to listen…

_For a moment…_

But he was a fool to think so.

_A fool to think I mean anything at-_

"Mark… please."

The voice was so tense, so wrapped tightly around too many emotions, struggling desperately to hold back the grief that made Roger's body shake.

_Why are you trying to hold it in?_

"Not now. Not… now. I… I can't."

_Didn't you learn from me that when you hide you stop living? Don't you know-_

And Roger was walking out of the church.

_How much I love you._

Mark hated him for leaving again, for just walking out on all these people, on Collins, on Mimi, on him.

But…then, he hated himself more for letting Roger go.

And then another sob and Mark slammed back to the reality of the rest of the world. Other people took Roger's leaving to signal the end of the funeral and were heading out the doors. No one could bear watching the grief flow off in violent waves from this man in the front of the church.

Mark turned and swallowed back the lump in his throat.

Collins now knelt by the casket, head bowed, shoulders rising quickly, one hand pressed to the side of it.

He glanced around and thankfully Maureen and Joanne hadn't left. They were approaching the anarchist slowly. Even Benny had stuck around, but he stayed to the back corner of the pew, watching, waiting…

Maybe he was going to pay for this funeral too.

But most importantly they were all looking to Mark.

As though Mark had all the answers.

As though Mark could make everything all right.

_Can't you all see what a mess I've made of everything?_

Mark walked up towards Collins.

_Can't you see that all of this is my fault to begin with?_

He knelt next to him by the casket…by Mimi… and put an arm around his shoulder.

_Can't you see that I don't know what I'm doing?_

Collins leaned into him, pressed his wet face against Mark's chest.

_Can't you see that I have nothing left?_

Mark didn't know how much time had passed with Collins pulling them both to sit on the ground from the strength of his sobbing.

_Can't you see that I'm barely hanging on?_

Minutes, hours, days… it didn't matter.

_Can't you see that the pressure's going to make me crack?_

When they finally pulled away from each other, when the sobs finally seemed to come to an end, Collins whispered something in a strained, broken voice.

_Can't you see that I need you to stop running away?_

And Mark would never forget what he said.

_Can't you see that…?_

"It should have been me."

_And if I should die before I wake…_


	21. Tourniquet

_Do you remember me? Lost for so long…_

**Tourniquet **

"God damnit…"

After his escape from the funeral, Roger found himself at the loft, sitting by the window and dreading hearing the sound of the door sliding open.

_Pretend like you're sleeping…_

_Pretend like anything…_

He couldn't handle talking, dealing with any of this.

_Just give me another hour…_

_Another day…_

_  
A week…_

The rocker leaned his head against the cool window pane. There had to be a way out.

There had to be a way to erase the last few days.

There had to be-

_All my fuckin' fault._

And then because the world hated Roger, the sound of the loft door opening broke the silence of the still room.

He didn't even bother turning around.

There was no one else it could be.

For a moment, there was nothing.

No sound.

And then he heard Mark's light breathing behind him.

Roger knew the filmmaker was weighing his options, scripting how shit would go down depending on what he chose to do.

It all had to be scripted.

_Always._

And then words came.

"Roger…"

And in seconds Roger was standing, shaking his head, still not looking at Mark.

"Not now. I can't."

The words made little sense, but they were all he could think of to say.

"Why are you trying so hard to hold all this in Rog? It's not good for you…"

"Hypocrite…"

The word was low, whispered just under his breath.

"…What?"

"Nothing."

_Just forget it. Forget everything._

Another pause and Roger found himself taking steps towards his bedroom.

"Roger, you have to deal with this."

And he stopped, shook his head again, "Don't tell me what I _have_ to do."

That seemed to shut him up. If Roger were to bother looking at him, he was sure Mark's mouth would be set firm, grasping for something to say. And his blue eyes… they'd express all the hurt, Roger just didn't want to see.

So he made quick steps for his bedroom, he had his hand on the handle, and-

_Slam._

Brief darkness as his mind tried to keep up with where his body just went. Against a wall… Mark had thrown him against a wall, hands holding tight to his arms. That much he could feel… Roger still hadn't opened his eyes.

_Wonder if he had thought this one up in his script…_

_In one last act of desperation, MARK slams ROGER into a wall._

If only Roger knew how the rest of the script went.

"_Look _at me, Roger. Fucking, _look_ at me."

Slowly green eyes opened in reluctant compliance and after a moment, they met those blue ones… filled with raw determination and emotions he couldn't read.

"You need to deal with this _now_…"

"Let… me… go."

"_Talk_ to me."

"Let me go!"

Roger started to struggle, pushing against the unusually strong force pressing against his arms.

"Not until you talk to me, God damnit!"

"Fuckin' let go!"

No matter how unusual the strength of Mark's hands was in that moment, he was still not stronger than Roger. The rocker had them flipped over on the wall in a few short seconds, but Mark's hands and arms were flailing, fighting, pressing back and Roger kept holding on.

They were a mess of struggling, grunts of pain and hisses of sharp breath as the air was knocked out of them time and time again as they slammed their bodies against the wall behind them and against each other. Their breathing was harsh and heavy and Roger still had Mark pressed against the wall, but it was a struggle to keep him there.

It was hot and sweaty.

Roger's hand came up to press Mark's shoulder down, but the filmmaker grabbed his wrist tightly. And as Roger struggled to pull his hand out of that grasp, it slid down with much effort and soon Mark was grasping on to Roger's hand in mid-air. Sweaty hand holding on to sweaty hand in the air.

And then Mark had his other hand on Roger's shoulder and flipped them back around, holding Roger against the wall now, as he leaned forward, opening his mouth slightly to catch Roger's lips in his own.

It was easy to kiss back.

There was something so addicting about those lips.

And Roger couldn't stop.

It was harsh and fierce and desperate, unlike any other time their lips had met.

Those lips traveled everywhere, their hands still struggled against each other's bodies roughly, pressing and pulling, creating bruises and scratches from hungry teeth and nails.

They violently ripped each other's shirts away, catching hair and limbs awkwardly in the pull. And then their bare chests could press together once more, lips crashing into lips.

And it was almost biting, the way their mouths attacked each others' bodies. They were sticky from sweat, limbs stuck together, and Roger needed more.

_So much more. _

_All of you…_

_  
I need… all of you._

_Now._

Mark gently put his hand on Roger's cheek and then his lips were by Roger's ear, the filmmaker's hot breath pressing into it, "Let it go. Let it all go."

In his desperate primal need to release all this barely restrained emotion now forced out of the cage, Roger grabbed hold of Mark's shoulders and flipped him down to the ground. He was pulling Mark's pants down and then shaky hands went to his own, struggling with the button.

He couldn't think.

_Can't breathe._

_Can't fucking breathe._

It was a gasp and struggle for air as he finally unclasped that button and pulled down his own pants over- over-…

"Let it go, Rog, just let it go… It's okay."

Mark's breathy whisper from the ground and Roger could hear the concern in the voice, the desperate need to help Roger.

That whisper that had been in his ear.

He could hardly swallow past the lump in his throat.

Something was burning.

_Everything _was burning.

_Hot, hot… wet, sweet… red… red…_

_On fire._

And it all felt so right.

"Let it go."

There was a pale hand in his own, squeezing tightly as it pressed a condom into his grasp.

"Mark…"

Did he have this scripted too?

"It's okay… really, Rodge."

But it wasn't, was it?

It felt so right.

He needed this. God, he fucking needed this.

It was the only way.

His release… from everything.

_Don't… Don't… Don't…_

Roger was standing and then he was on his knees. His pants on the ground next to him.

He needed this, but something was wrong.

He couldn't _think_.

Everything was on fire.

"Let it go, Rodge." That same, comforting, breathy voice, expressing so much love… _too _much love, "Let it go…"

And then it hit him and images of Mark lying in a hospital bed assaulted him and the fire disappeared.

He was falling over on to his side and gasping, grabbing tightly to air.

_No, no, no…_

Mark was panting, shaking his head, grabbing on to Roger's legs, pulling and then sliding that pale hand up to Roger's, grasping it tightly as he pushed his body over towards him.

"Come on… It's… okay…. You need… this."

"No… no… no… I-… fuck. I almost… I almost-"

"It's… it's fine. It'll help you… it'll help."

Another pale, sweaty hand slid to his cheek running gentle fingers down his jaw line.

"No. Fuck… God damnit… No, just…No."

"It would've… would've been… fine… It…"

Roger couldn't look at him, couldn't look at the love, at the willingness to do _anything _for Roger that would undoubtedly show in those blue eyes. He was shaking his head.

"No. I can't… I can't-"

_Kill another person._

_Don't you think two is enough Mark?_

_Don't you think two is enough without adding your life to my list of kills?_

_Fuck, I almost-_

"I… have to-"

He couldn't manage a stand now, but crawling… crawling he could do. It wasn't tough, wasn't rocker-like, but it didn't matter.

"No... We almost-"

Roger's shaking hand was on the doorknob to his bedroom, he was leaning heavily on the door.

"I know. That's… I can't do this… Mark… I can't…. Oh God…"

And with a twist of a shaky, sweaty wrist… Roger put a door between him and the person he loved more than anything, all he had left…

_If I fuck that up too, I'll have nothing._

Everyone he'd ever really loved had died because of him.

_I should tell you, I'm disaster._

Maybe for once he should be protecting people from this disaster, instead of inviting them into the middle of it.

_Who knows?_

Maybe he could protect Mark before it was too late.

_Here goes…_

What if it was already too late?

_Am I too lost to be saved?_


	22. Solitude

A/N: You all have no idea how sorry I am for the incredible delay. I didn't mean to… basically life ate me… temporarily. Work almost 40 hours a week, plus school, plus homework… there was little time for sleep let alone writing. However my last day of my job is Saturday, so I should have more time.

I have found a way to repay you all at the end of this for sticking through with this story all along. And all you loyal reviewers will get something extra special to say thank you. There are only a few chapters left of this story, so I hope you all continue to enjoy!

Oh and the bold and italics..uhm.. not really Mark's thoughts.. just.. they're hard to describe lol… Much thanks to http/members. for the military terminology.

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_How many times have you told me… you love her?_

**Solitude**

"Hey, Collins… it's… it's me. Mark. I just… I hope you're… I was just calling to see… how you were doing and everything. Uh, give me a call… back, okay? Soon. Or I'll… have to hunt you down…"

_Click._

Mark stared at the phone. He hated the weakness in his own voice.

_God…_

_Keep it together. _

He turned slowly from the phone, staring now at the closed door that lead to Roger's bedroom.

No sound from inside.

Nothing.

No indication there was any living thing… behind it.

If Mark didn't know better…

If he didn't… know….

But he really didn't know. That dead look in Roger's eyes…the way he was withdrawing from everything…

Did that qualify as living?

Mark sighed, gripped the table for a moment.

_How many times have I done this to myself?_

He approached the door.

_How long will it take before I see?_

This week was wearing them both thin… they wouldn't last much longer like this. Mark desperate to break through Roger's walls as Roger… strengthens his defenses.

Like a war.

This was a **_war._**

The filmmaker stared at the door for a moment or two. Formulating… something, anything in his mind.

_**Initial approach…**_

Mark knocked on the door.

No response.

He hadn't expected one.

_**Intelligence estimate: Enter cautiously for best response**_

Mark opened the door, walked in… two slow steps at a time, breathing as quietly as possible.

"Roger…"

The rocker was fake sleeping.

_**Decoy.**_

Why Roger thought he could fool Mark with that anymore…

It was easy to tell the difference between sleeping Roger and fake sleeping Roger.

His breathing was too fast, face too covered in pillows, body all wrapped up. When Roger really slept he unconsciously tried to get out of blankets and pillows… just that instinctual need for escape.

Only when the rocker was wrapped around someone he loved did he manage to sleep peacefully within the bedding.

Mark took in another deep breath. Find something simple…easy to start with.

_**Negotiate.**_

"You… want something to eat?"

"No."

"We have… Captain Crunch."

"I said no."

"Rodge…you need to eat."

"Not now."

"Well… when?"

"Whenever the fuck I want. Jesus."

"We could go out to the park… or the life café… Visit Collins. How about it?"

"I don't want to…"

"…are you going to leave your bed any time today?"

"No."

"Roger…"

"Mark, don't. Not today. Let's go one fuckin day without this…"

_**Negotiations fail.**_

Mark took a deep breath.

Yes.

Go one day without tiptoeing around the problem.

One day and not let Roger get away with _this._

"No."

Movement on the bed at last, as the rocker sat up.

"What?"

"I'm not going to let you… do this to yourself, Roger."

"You'll let me do whatever the fuck I want."

"No. Roger… _no. _You've been through too much for it to come to… to _this_. Fuckin this _again_!"

"Again?"

_**Fire.**_

"It's withdrawal. It's like… right after withdrawal… all over again."

_**Successful hit.**_

Roger's mouth fell open uselessly, he stared at the ground, shook his head.

"I lost someone I loved then too…" Then green eyes shot up to meet blue, hidden behind it all… a fire…. An anger, "Why can't you let me fuckin deal with this in my own way? Let me just… deal… with this… Let me…"

Mark walked to the bed, hands flailing uselessly, "Not at the expense of your own life, Roger!"

A silence and then…

_**Fire.**_

"What life?"

_**Successful hit.**_

Mark took a step backwards, pushed down the pain in his chest, the catch in his throat, took in a painful breath and closed his eyes.

He heard the bed squeak, Roger moved to the end of it.

And then Mark's eyes shot open again, hard, cold.

_Fuckin stone, baby…_

_**Initiation.**_

"Mimi wouldn't want you to do this. She'd want you to_ live_."

_**Intelligence estimate: Bad. Move.**_

Roger stood up, fists tight at his side, striding to Mark easily.

"How the _fuck _would you know?" His hand gripped Mark's shoulder tightly, eyes filled with desperate anger, "How would you know what she would want?"

It was a useless, furious question.

They both knew very well that that was exactly what she would've wanted.

But the fire in Roger's eyes… was just what Mark needed.

Anger. Lust. Emotion of any kind to tear down Roger's walls, to break them away so the rocker could let himself feel what was beneath it all… the pain, the guilt… and heal and eventually… it would all be okay again.

But not till the walls came down.

Not till some emotion broke through.

If Roger could just… keep the anger. Fight… not lose it…

But it was gone.

_**Retreat.**_

Roger was withdrawing again, walking away, sitting down, projecting exhaustion. No emotion… just exhaustion.

_**Advance.**_

Mark sighed and sat next to him.

"Roger this is stupid. All of this... you can't let this… destroy you."

There was a tense silence.

And then a mumbled reply, "I'm already destroyed…"

He didn't want to hear it. Mark didn't want to hear it, but he did…

He wrapped his arms around Roger's waist, leaned in close to the rocker's body.

Maybe he should've said something. But there weren't words… there were no words that could possibly fight against the defeat in Roger's voice.

"Just don't want to destroy you too…" Another mumble and then Roger was pulling from Mark's arms, lying down on the bed.

"Roger…" Mark lay down next to him, pressing close, "You can't destroy me… you're the only thing that makes me alive…"

There was no response.

Just quiet breathing and the thump of a beating heart beneath Mark's head.

And he knew then that they could be breathing, hearts could be beating all they wanted… but that hardly meant they were alive.

They were anything but alive.

_Still with me is only you._

_**Battle lost.**_


	23. Exodus

_I've no where else to go, but I can't stay where I don't belong…_

**Exodus**

"I need a bus ticket for Monday….

…As far as twenty bucks'll take me.

…That's not very far.

Okay.

Yeah, I'll take it… thanks."

It was all he had.

He had to go.

His own selfish need, desire to have Mark near kept him from pushing Mark away too far… far enough to keep him safe.

He didn't have the heart to be an ass hole all the time.

Couldn't stand the look in blue eyes.

So he had to get away before it was too late.

Go somewhere… anywhere that wasn't here.

No more hurting…. No more hurting anyone.

_Waking up is knowing who you really are._

So he packed his bag in the shadow, one item at a time…

And was determined to have _one_ last good weekend with Mark.

One thing to remember.

To say goodbye…

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There was something off.

Roger had Mark in his arms and it all felt so off.

So many words left unspoken, unsaid, untouched on.

So much Roger was hiding.

A packed suitcase under a bed.

A bus ticket in his back pocket.

It was Monday.

And this weekend they had gone through the motions almost to the point that it convinced them both that everything was okay.

_Here in the shadows…_

Roger leaned down and kissed Mark gently.

_I'm safe._

Mark smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

_I'm free._

Roger squeezed him a little tighter and tried to slow the race of his heart beat as he noticed how little time was left.

And then Mark turned and pulled from his arms, standing and watching him, before speaking the words Roger knew had been coming all weekend.

"Roger… what's going on?"

But it's easier to play dumb.

"What do you mean?"

_Show me the shadow where true meaning lies._

Mark sighed, shook his head, and walked over to the window.

For a moment Roger thought he'd gotten out of it… at least for a couple hours, at least until it was time to head to the bus station.

But he was wrong…

_Nothing new._

Mark had his back turned to Roger, staring out the window, "Why did this weekend seem… like… a goodbye?"

And Roger heard it.

Just barely…but it was there.

The desperate, pleading tone of Mark's voice. Begging… _please don't let this be right, please don't let me be right…_

But Roger was wrong.

And Mark was right.

That's how this worked, right?

That's how everything fucking worked.

Roger walked into his room, didn't look to Mark, afraid that seeing the hidden desperation in the filmmaker's stance would stop him.

_This has to happen._

_This is the right decision._

_To protect him… to protect… have to…_

He pulled the suitcase out from under his bed and walked back into the loft, standing awkwardly in his doorway. Unsure how to start.

Roger could see the subtle shake to Mark's frame. Mark knew he was there, but was afraid to turn and look, afraid of what he'd see…

"Mark…"

And then, after a careful, tense silence… Mark turned, blue eyes meeting with green first, for just a moment and it was long enough to make Roger's legs feel weak.

_Why am I doing this again?_

_Why-?_

Then Mark looked to the suitcase.

And the world froze.

_I'm not lost… I'm just alone._

_I won't cry, _

_I won't give up, _

_I can't go back…_

Roger couldn't breathe.

_Why am I doing this? Why am I doing- what am I doing.. I can't- I can't- I can't-_

_Save him. Stop being selfish and fucking save him._

If he could just feel his legs, he'd move.

He'd leave.

And the world started again.

Mark shook his head, "No. No. No… you're not… You're _not-_ You're not leaving."

Roger swallowed, gripped tighter to his suitcase.

"I have to."

"No. I don't _care_.. You're not leaving. You are _not- _You're not-"

It was surprising to Roger, but the calm, calculated… the sound of a Mark who was detached… that was gone. One look at Mark and Roger could see the internal struggle, the desperate need to act like this wasn't hurting him as much as it was.

_Fuck._

"I_ have_ to do this… okay? Just… don't make it harder than it already is…"

Mark took a step towards him, folded his arms tight against his body as though they could protect him, "Harder than it already is? Roger… you're _leaving_… You're fuckin walking out the- And you didn't even- This whole weekend was a fuckin sham and I knew it, but I-" He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, "When? Are you coming ba- For… for how long?"

"Now…tonight…" He turned away, took two slow steps towards the door, "…For… for good…"

A harsh in take of breath.

Roger glanced at Mark to see him gripping tightly to the table, struggling for control… to hold it all in… to keep it together… and failing… miserably.

He picked up his guitar case.

Two more steps to the door.

He couldn't keep looking back, he couldn't… Or he'd change his mind. And this… he had to do this… Roger reached back to feel the bus ticket in his back pocket, to be sure it was there and hesitated as he reached for the handle.

_One last look… one last time… it can't hurt to actually say it… to say the words and look at him and go go go leave… leave because… have to… fuckin have to… you'll destroy him if you stay. You'll destroy-_

"Mark, I-"

"Fuck you!"

Pale hands roughly pushed his shoulder, turning him completely around. Roger's mouth fell open uselessly as he struggled for words, for action.

Mark was fuming… no control.

No control.

"Yeah, _fuck_ you, Roger Davis. You're _not_ leaving. I'm not going to… I'm not going to let you leave. Not again… not- not… never again… I'm not-"

Mark was gasping for breath through his anger.

"God damnit, Mark, I _have _to! What part of that don't you fuckin understand?"

"_All_ of it, Roger. I don't get any of it. Tell me. _Tell _me, why you '_have'_ to go."

He shook his head, "No... you don't get it. I told you before… and you don't… you don't want to see- I have to… I've gotta get out of here."

Roger moved for the door, hand grasping on to the handle, but Mark flung his body between Roger and the door, Roger and the exit, Roger and freedom.

"_Move._"

Mark shook his head, swallowed desperately, "No. I'm not going to let you walk out of here, Roger."

"Mark…"

"No. If you want to leave you'll have to go through me."

"_Fine_."

Roger dropped his suitcase and guitar case, grabbed hold of Mark's shoulders, easily pulled him to the side, but Mark grabbed on to him too, pushing and pressing against each other. Grunts of pain and desperate struggle. The rocker fought Mark to the ground, but before he could reach the door, Mark was in his way once more, pale arms clinging desperately to the door behind him.

"I can do… this all night… Roger. I'll do this… for as long as… it takes…"

Roger bit his lip, picked up his suitcase, gripping tightly to it as though it would hold him together, "As long as… it takes for… what?"

"For you to… understand…" Mark stood up straighter in the doorway, "that _this _is where you… belong…"

"…I know it is."

There was a pause, confusion flashed for a moment across Mark's face, he shook his head and tried again, "You're not going to… find whatever it is… you need… out there…"

"I know… all I need…'s… right here."

Mark was at a loss for words, he swallowed, "Then why? Why are you… why would you even _think_ to leave?"

Roger sighed, closed his eyes, "I don't… I don't want to hurt you."

"Roger… I love you. Of course you're going to hurt me. And if you love me… I'm going to hurt you too… it's just how that shit… works. I don't… I don't understand."

"No… Mark… I don't want you to… I don't want to do to you what I did to… April and Mimi."

"That wasn't… They made their own decisions, Roger! It wasn't your fau-"

"I don't want to destroy you."

"God damnit… Roger… the only way you're going to fuckin… going to do that is if you walk… if you leave now. Do you understand? I can't… I can't… go through that… again… I can't live not knowing… if you're alive or dead or Jesus, Rodge… I have to _be_ there with you… in the end… through everything. Can't you- What the hell would my life be… without- I don't…"

Roger dropped his suitcase again watching Mark battle with these emotions…

"Roger, why can't you see… how much you matter… to me? Why can't- Fuck. I just… I can't-"

And the rocker reached out, tentatively touching those folded arms with his fingers…

"_You _don't get it…" Mark continued choking past his words, sounding as though he were on the brink of crying, but as always the tears never came, "You don't… see what- I only _feel_… with.. you…"

And Roger wrapped his arms tightly around the shaking filmmaker…

He couldn't help it.

Because despite how desperately he tried to run away from it all… This _was_ exactly where he belonged. Not in the loft, not in New York City… but with his arms wrapped around this man.

_I need you…_

Both their legs grew weak as Mark shook harder and Roger held on tighter, falling together to their knees. Mark had his head buried in Roger's chest, pale arms wrapped around the slim waist… so tightly it was as though he was afraid that by letting go, he'd be letting go forever.

_You don't understand how much I need you._

And as time passed, Mark's shaking slowed. Roger couldn't wrap his mind around anything that was said. Couldn't think with Mark right here… pulling all of the emotions from him…

He pulled away slowly and with much difficulty as Mark's arms still clung tightly to his waist.

"I won't go…"

And Mark's eyes brightened, a kind of hope as he eased himself away from Roger with that look on his face like it was time to talk. To talk about all of it.

But Roger couldn't handle that now, so he walked back to the door. Mark's hand grabbed hold of his.

Roger turned and saw the fear in the blue eyes, the confusion.

"I'm not… leaving… I'm not…" He took the ticket from his back pocket to prove it and ripped it in two.

Mark nodded, but the fear was still there.

"I'm just… I need some space… right now."

"Oh…"

"I'll be… back…"

"Yeah…"

Roger sighed, closed his eyes, and walked out the door, hands digging into his pockets.

He'd yet to let himself really feel.

He was afraid of what would happen when he did.

He needed to just stop… thinking, feeling…

Just stop.

_So much more is made in empty eyes_


	24. Taking Over Me

_I'd give up everything just to find you_

**Taking Over Me**

"Trust Roger to 'need some space' during a fucking rainstorm."

Mark pressed his forehead against the cool window pain and watched the drops roll down, slow and heavy.

Roger really hadn't been gone for very long. Not very long for Roger anyway, but Mark couldn't help but worry. He'd almost _lost _him a few minutes before he barreled out the door.

And Mark had to believe that Roger would come back.

_Had _to.

There was no other option.

He couldn't even wrap his mind around the alternative right now, he couldn't-

Mark traced his finger on the window in shapes and stick figures in a desperate attempt to keep his mind off of anything that really mattered.

The ring of the phone made him jump and knock his head lightly into the window he'd been leaning against. He hissed in pain and ran a hand along his forehead as their answering machine took over the job of answering the phone for him.

"Speak!"

"Hey, Mark… Roger. I know you're home, pick up your damn phone already."

_Collins. _

Sounding amused and much more like the Collins that Mark knew.. had known for all these years now.

He ran for the phone, nearly tripped over a pile of _something _on the floor on his way, but managed to pick the phone up mostly unscathed.

"Hey, Collins… How are you?"

"I'm fine, Mark, I'm… better."

Mark smiled weakly, "Good. That's good."

There was a pause and then Collins took in a shaky breath.

"Yeah, look Mark, about… the… funeral. I'm sorry."

"What? Why?" He frowned and sat down on the floor, "I mean, there isn't anything to be sorry about Col."

"I… yeah, I know, but I had to say it. It just wasn't like me to…"

Mark nodded, swallowed, "I don't think anyone was really in… a good state that day…"

"Yeah, there just… there wasn't any warning."

"I know." He sighed.

"So how are things over there?"

"Okay…"

And Mark winced at his own obvious lie. It was instinct for him to say fine or okay, no matter how he was. One less person to worry-

"_Mark_…."

"Yeah… I know. They're not… okay… at all."

"Roger… taking it badly?"

He bit his lip and leaned his head back against the wall behind him.

"Yes… yes and no."

Silence.

"What do you mean?"

Mark sighed, "He just… he won't let himself feel… anything. He hasn't really _grieved _yet. I have barely seen any emotion out of him and when I do, it's in these short spurts that I have to fight to get out of him…"

"So kind of like you?"

"What?"

Mark sat forward.

"You know what I mean. You do the same thing."

"I…"

But there wasn't anything he could say, because it was true.

Mark twirled his fingers tightly around the phone chord and leaned his head back against the wall again, closing his eyes as the silence fell back into their conversation.

"He was going to leave again…" Mark finally said, "For good this time."

"What?"

"Yeah…"

"When?"

"Today. He had a bus ticket bought for this evening… to get out of here permanently."

"And he wasn't going to say goodbye to me?"

"He hardly said it to me. I was just barely able to stop him from leaving…"

Collins sighed, "Why? Why was he going to leave?"

"He blames himself for Mimi and April. He didn't want… to do the same thing to me… I guess. I don't know. He's out walking now."

"In the rain?"

"Yeah… but at least… I mean hopefully he's not just… goin to go buy another bus ticket."

"He's not."

Mark smiled lightly, "What makes you say that?"

"He doesn't have the money." Collins laughed and Mark smiled, rolling his eyes.

_True, very true._

_But there is more than one way to disappear._

Mark sighed after a moment, "I don't know what to do anymore."

"Give him some time. He's a stubborn boy… but he'll come around."

"Yeah, I guess…"

"Well I've got to go Mark, but… y'know thanks for the other day. For being there…"

Mark just shook his head, "You're my friend, Col, what else was I going to do?"

"Right." Mark could hear the smile in Collins' voice, "Oh and Mark do me a favor, when Roger finally lets himself grieving… you do a little grieving too."

Before Mark could protest, Collins had hung up.

He hung the phone back up and retreated back to the window, pressing his forehead and tracing stick figures on the window… trying to act like he wasn't watching the street below.

_I have to be with you, to live, to breathe_

_You're taking over me._


	25. Listen to the Rain

A/N: I know you've all been waiting forever for this and I am so sorry! I've been so busy, but here it is and you don't have to wait any longer after this because this is the last chapter! 

For sticking with me all this time and through all the sporadic updates, here's a music video I made just for this fanfiction and for all of you: http:// www . youtube . com/watch?vufRhFHA2LQc ( you have to remove the spaces, ffnet does not like urls) For those who have been reviewing I'll be messaging you with a link of something special to say an extra big thank you for all your reviews.

Thank you everyone! Happy Holidays!

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_Whispering secrets in vain_

**Listen to the Rain**

"I love you."

Mark turned from the window at the sound of the tired voice and saw Roger standing in the hallway dripping. Rain rolled down his body to collect in puddles underneath his feet.

"Rodge…"

The relief that flowed through him must be easy to see. Roger's expression was unreadable under all that rained. He waited for Roger to move, but he didn't so mark walked to him instead.

"I love you too."

Mark's pale hand took hold of Roger's dripping one.

"Come on… we need to get you into something dry…"

He led him into their room, led Roger to sit on the edge of the bed. Mark started to walk away, to find clothes, but Roger gripped harder to his hand and pulled him back.

_Please don't let go…_

"I'm just… getting you some clothes… I'll be back…"

Roger wrapped his other arm around Marks waist bringing him close and pressing his head against Mark's abdomen. Mark's pale hands went to Roger's long dripping hair, running through it gently.

_Can't we stay for awhile?_

He knew better than to speak right now.

Roger was shaking from more than the cold.

"She's… she's… really gone… Isn't… she? She…"

_Emotion._

At last.

_God…_

Mark nodded, emotion slipping from his own voice… just a little, "Yeah… she's… gone."

Roger held tighter to Mark's waist.

"And.. I let her.. I let her… It's my fault… shes not dancing anymore. It's my… fault…"

"_No!_"

_Too much emotion._

"No… no… Roger… it's not your fault, okay? It's not." He leaned down, hands moving up and down Roger's back as he pressed his face into that wet, wet hair, "It's no ones' fault… it's just _life_. It's just… it's just stupid fucking life. And we just have to get through it right? Together. You and I."

Mark could feel Roger nod underneath him.

Could hear him choke on tears.

Mark nodded too.

He had Roger back.

He didn't even notice the tears pricking at the edges of his own eyes.

The tears that wouldn't fall... but _God_… he had Roger back.

Roger shook harder. Mark held tighter.

"I lo- loved… her.. I.. I rea- really… I did… I- I loved.. her… I lo.. loved her so… so fuckin much… so much.."

"I know." Mark said, "I know you did."

Roger wasn't holding back anymore. Mark's shirt was getting wet from the rain still clinging to Roger and from his tears. The sobs were muffled but they were there, finally there.

"Will… will it… ever… get bet-… better for.. us?"

Mark could just barely understand the words beyond the muffled crying. He pulled away from Roger, kneeled down further so they could be eye level and lifted Roger's chin up with his index finger. He smiled gently and raised his thumb to wipe the tears from Roger's cheeks.

"Of course it will. Not perfect. But… I think it's getting better already." Mark kissed Roger, lingering on his lips for a moment, "We just… have to be open to it I guess."

Roger nodded, visibly took in a deep breath, rubbing at his red eyes.

"I'm sorry…"

Mark shook his head, looked down, "Hey… its okay. Just don't… ever do that again…okay? We don't… we… we don't get enough… time together as it is… and I… I don't… know what I'd do without… you…"

"I won't. I won't…do it… not ever again." He leaned his forehead against Mark's. "I don't... think I _could _leave you… not anymore…"

Mark took in the moment, clung to it desperately, and tried to engrave it in his memory. Almost wishing the camera was around, but there are some memories that can't be captured.

They were going to be okay. Roger was back, Roger was feeling again, Roger had let himself grieve, and Roger wasn't leaving. They would be just fine together. For now they would be just fine… and for now that was all that mattered.

He ran his hands up Roger's wet arms.

"_Jesus_… Roger, you're freezing… Lemme get you some dry clothes, okay? Just… just stay right here."

Mark returned with clothes from Roger's still packed suitcase and a towel. Roger had remained on the edge of the bed, but he was crying again. Silently. The tear drops matched the look of the rain dripping on to Roger's face from his hair. Mark set the towel and clothes down on the bed.

He took hold of the bottom of Roger's shirt and slowly pulled it up, worked it off of him and to the ground. Mark kissed Roger's neck and chest, took hold of the towel and wiped the water away from his abdomen and shoulders and arms. He kissed Roger's neck again for a little longer.

Mark pulled the dry, warm, dark green hoody over Roger's head and then pale hands moved to the button at Roger's soaked jeans.

"I can… dress myself y'know…"

"Yeah, I know." He unbuttoned the pants, "But I want to do this."

Mark pulled Roger's pants off carefully, took the towel in hand.

"Woah… no towel… not here…."

Not now maybe.

Mark smiled, nodded, and threw the red plaid pants at Roger to put on himself.

He sat behind Roger on the bed and brought the towel to Roger's dripping hair, massaging the towel into Roger's hair and head, pulling the water away. Roger leaned his head back in appreciation, breathing soft and calm as the tears stopped. The hair was still damp, but not dripping. Mark threw the towel to the ground and pulled Roger on to the bed next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

"Still cold?"

"A little."

"Oh?"

"Yeah…"

Roger leaned forward, pressing their lips together. His hand went back to cradle Mark's head.

And there it was… the same electricity, the same _fire_ he'd felt the very first time their lips had met… and every time after.

"There."

"No more cold?"

"Nope."

And Roger smiled.

And it was perfect.


End file.
